DCI Gene Hunt's Metropolitan Police CID Seige Accident
by Philip Glenister tomboy
Summary: When an elderly former officer of Greater Manchester Police holds Metropolitan Police CID hostage, DCI Gene Hunt has the tables turned when he is knocked out cold near his beloved blue Ford Mondeo Titanium X by his old boss, in a horribly familiar fashion to his mate DCI Sam Tyler's accident; way back in 2006. He is in the 70s, just only ten years from his 1963 date of birthday!
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**DCI Gene Hunt has a car accident and wakes up in 1973 similar to his right hand man DCI Sam Tyler's one - Life on Mars UK and Ashes to Ashes but from DCI Gene Hunt's POV.**

DCI Gene Hunt travelled back in time to 1973 from the present day? Just ten years from his birth! The events mirror his best friend DCI Sam Tyler's car accident from 2006. How will the mullet wearing, trendy and fun loving Detective Chief Inspector fare in a world of Sweeney type policing as he didn't graduate the police academy in Greater Manchester Police until 1982 from starting in 1979. He only has police knowledge from the future and is a fish out of water around corrupt, violent and unconstructed police officers of the Seventies?

DCI Gene Hunt was on his gold Apple I-Phone with DCI Sam Tyler on the other end "Boss, could you come here, there's a crazed ex Greater Manchester Police officer holding our Cybercrime colleagues hostage. He was a Detective Chief Inspector in the 1970s-1980s, when we were just kids; remember his bronze or gold Ford Cortina MkIII?" replied Sam over the Bluetooth device driving a marked Mitsubishi Evolution. "He hates on all the modern methods of policing, thinks we've become computer admin addicts and we should be out on the streets beating up suspects, 'nonces' in his words..."

"Yep, that was the one - on my way to the scene in 30 minutes!" spoke the Detective Chief Inspector slurping a Starbucks slushy drink in his blue Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition over his hands free Bluetooth device listening to the Black Eyed Peas - That Tonight's Gonna be a Good Night after the radio DJ announces it over the Ford Sony Compact Disc MP3-4 radio. "Here's a song from The Black Eyed Peas, I Gotta a Feeling album!". "Always trust the Gene Genie, Sammy dude, ensure he can't wreck our IT suites; they cost thousands of pounds and t' equipment ain't cheap as Diana Dors and a bottle of chip oil." as Gene drove to the scene of former DCI Ray Carling aged 83 ranting and raving about police stations being the Death Star from the Star Wars movies.

You great… soft… sissy… girlie… nancy… French… bender… Man United supporting POOFS! I'll come over your houses and stamp on all your toys!" the greying former old school police officer yelled attempting to lash out at Gene's right hand man in front of stunned colleagues trying to defend their computer bases.

"I have all the newspaper reports from 1973; you were a hero when you stopped an ex World War II soldier from holding the Manchester Gazette hostage and what about that time when you pulled in Collin Clay for using a bunch of house keys as a homemade knuckle duster? But policing has to evolve otherwise it wouldn't be transparent." reasoned DCI Sam Tyler who spoke calmly and slowly; Hunt's undying loyalty to his CID meant his fellow DCI had to hold the fort against an elderly male alone with the rest of their colleagues including DC Chris Skelton, PCSO Annie Cartwright, Sharon Grainger, DI Alex Drake and DS Dean Carling who is the son of that ex DCI who is reported on the media stations for holding their beloved Criminal Investigations Department hostage with a 1970s police issued Walter firearm.

 **# I gotta feeling that tonight's gonna be a good night. That tonight's gonna be a good night. That tonight's gonna be a good, good night. Tonight's the night. Let's live it up. I got my money. Let's spend it up. #**

What follows is Gene's 21st century account of 1970s life, where he feels like a fish out of water. He must come to terms with an unfamiliar environment and an archaic CID unit. There, using his modern know-how, he becomes integral to the unit. But he must adapt to their old-fashioned technologies and etiquettes. Carling is a man who likes to throw his weight around and thinks of himself as the sheriff in a western. Ray acts first and thinks later, and this results in several punch-ups between Ray and him, who believes in by-the-book policing.

It's a world where witnesses are regularly intimidated, it takes two weeks to process forensics, and his colleagues will nail their suspect whether they have the evidence or not.

The beauty of this Life on Mars UK and Ashes to Ashes crossover is that each week it concentrates on catching criminals through two completely opposing styles of policing. We put a modern DCI bang in the world of the old school copper and so explore two totally foreign worlds. Gene's repelled by this prehistoric world, and the drama lies in how he tries to accommodate himself to life on a completely different planet.

But Gene, a 21st century police officer, has to deal with a strange world full of cigarette-smoking, gum-chewing, sometimes corrupt, unreconstructed police officers of the early 1970s, as well as brutal punch-now-think-later policing methods and crude forensic techniques, and there are times when he is deeply stressed by this, as well as by recurring hints that it is what it seems, although DCI Ray Carling rarely grants him any title or seeming respect.

If that wasn't enough, teachers yesterday on BBC News London called for ex DCI Carling to be locked in the slammer. Despite the BBC's defence that the ex copper was a tongue-in-cheek exposé of the shortcomings of the 1970s, Carling's volley of insults at anyone within range of his kipper tie will fuel homophobic bullying in schools, claimed Chris Keates, secretary general of NASUWT. "Ex DCI Carling is 83 years of age, he has dementia of which would make the ex Detective Chief Inspector unfit to stand trial and plead guilty for the London Metropolitan Police CID siege." The newsreaders read "Members of the public are advised not to approach Mr. Carling, underneath the Thames Valley bridge as a woman had a bullet shot into her head; now unconscious in Central London NHS under a medically induced coma by doctors, paramedics and nurses."

"Guv, please I know you miss the old days of policing; but this isn't the way to do it nowadays." pleaded DCI Gene Hunt "And the truth is I wouldn't want to live as an adult in 1973; where suspects are banged up just because they're Irish, where police beat up prisoners and make racist remarks before wrecking their livers on Double Diamond; and where the brightest spots of the TV schedule are Open University and the Test Card Girl."

"When I served y' 'ad a job for life in me prime from 1953-1990! Not over-analyse every little thing with 21st-century, politically correct pseudo-babble!" he swore loudly; holding PCSO Annie Cartwright by her high visibility vest on the collar. "It was guys punching each other in the street with no recompense. We had men who could carry guns without having to fill out a form and who could drive really big gas-guzzling cars without any guilt!" Ray snarled in temper, he was the same as he'd ever been; despite his hair going grey and retired in 1991; twenty seven years ago when Gene was a mere Detective Inspector still.

Carling is Seventies man writ large and we should be grateful that species is extinct. He wears a vest and his hair looks like it was styled during a power cut. He runs along towpaths in skimpy orange swimming trunks and has a torso that's closer to a Party Seven than six pack. He has no concept of innocent until proved guilty and thinks it's acceptable to turn up to a swingers' evening with a prostitute he's just busted. He's racist, disablist and homophobic.

DCI Gene Hunt gets knocked out cold near his beloved blue Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition, as swages of ambulance team paramedics surround him as Ray Carling beat him in the street, DI Alex Drake and DCI Sam Tyler ran to their beloved boss "Gene, are you all right?!" she shouted "Wake up, we need you back at base!" Sam Tyler begged "Boss, please don't die just because your former Guv has it against you, for one lousy breath! Come on, we've been best mates since the 1970s where we both grew up in Manchester with our Annie!" DCI Gene Hunt's eyes turn all the colours into swirls as he goes unconscious, as DI Alex Drake attempts to start CPR on his chest. The minutes turned into months, eventually transforming into years until the 1970s.

Gene ends up in his childhood town of Manchester, 1973 only just ten years from his birth - an adult viewing the old school world through 21st Century eyes and childish glimpses; when he is transferred to the hospital bed with millions of wires plugged into him and machines beeping away.


	2. Chapter 2: The Old School Coppers CID

**DCI Gene Hunt has been demoted to Detective Inspector as he wakes up near the Mondeo's 1973 ancestor, a Ford Granada MkI GXL which would be his car, since Carling already has the bronze Cortina MkIII. There was piles of rubble from old deserted factories, recently demolished to make way for Manchester's "Skyway of the Future."**

* * *

We don't have to put up with the narrow-minded attitudes and blatant sexism; but does poor DCI Gene Hunt have a choice in this strange world? His car was still an executive Ford saloon of the same colour, but which morphed from a Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition.

Gene is sat in his dark blue Ford Granada MkI GXL still dazed from his knock out, a police constable walks to the driver's window asking "Is this your vehicle sir?" as he sees a red eight track cassette of David Bowie playing on the official Ford pushbutton cassette radio "Yes, I'm meant to be a DCI; where is my gold I-Phone, my Starbucks slushy drink and all of my compact discs on my favourite rock bands from Black Eyed Peas up to David Bowie?!" the uniformed plod looked at him as if Gene came from the future talking rubbish.

"Compact, mobile and slushy what?" said PC Davidson "Yes it is my vehicle. Where's your Police Community Support Officers? Aren't you supposed to be wearing yellow high visibility vests, have you lost your fingerprint machine? Oh, you'll have to write a claim on the insurance sheets, when you return to base, Sir." said a puzzled DCI Gene Hunt who thought the beat officer was missing several pieces of equipment, not realising clunky technology was the thing in the Seventies.

"Oh you mean the plonks, they're placed downstairs of Salford and Manchester Police." the circa 1973 uniformed plod replied. "You've been transferred to Salford and Manchester Police as a Detective Inspector, here's your warrant card." handing Gene an old fashioned looking warrant card with black typewriter font.

He walked into exactly the same station he first graduated in during 1982, but 30 or 40 odd years earlier staring wide eyed at the sight of 'A' Division smoking and making crude remarks at their aisle desks "Don't sweat it, if you had too much to drink." said DC Collin Skelton who is in his late teens or early twenties.

"This is my and Sammy Tyler's department, where's my slim line desktop PC, Apple I-Pad and fax machine?" asked a bewildered future DCI Gene Hunt "What year is it supposed to be?"

The 1970s Detective Chief Inspector woke up coughing from his cigarettes in a dark large partition office with Western movie posters of Gary Cooper and Clint Eastwood. It had sellotape marks on the glass.

"Shhh, too late." whispered Chris Skelton's future father.

"Word in your shell like, pal!" sneered DCI Ray Carling cigarette in his mouth.

But the moment DCI Ray Carling grabbed Hunt who innocently walked in, and slammed Hunt against a filing cabinet shouting "I'm Ray Carling. Your DCI. It's 1973. Nearly dinner time. And I'm having 'hoops' ", he was lost.

DCI Ray Carling is yelling at WPC Anna Cartwright to go and ''detect me'' a garibaldi, and to stop complaining that your gun doesn't go with your dress.

There was something strangely de ja vu about this scene " They reckon you got concussion, I don't give a tart's furry cap; if half your brains are falling out! You dare step into my kingdom acting king of the jungle!"

The WPC was giving Gene a medical examination, it looked familiar as DCI Carling said "Good girl Cartwright, all prostate and no jelly!" The DCI Carling was off to the Railway Arms pub mentioning half cut sober police officers.


	3. Chapter 3: DCI Gene Hunt was 10 in 1973

**Chapter three is here, where 21st Century DCI Gene Hunt whom is a slightly** **brash fun loving and mullet wearing copper tries to understand his purpose in the world of the old school police officer, going back in time to 1973 Manchester. He was a young police constable in 1982 - Gene could remember the Eighties and Nineties - not the fifties to sixties! This chapter also includes DCI Gene Hunt's profile from the present day.**

* * *

The hospital notes read: **Eugene Hunt is in a medically induced coma after his elderly former Detective Chief Inspector; Mr. Raymond Carling viciously assaulted him near his blue 2013 Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition leaving him for dead near street onlookers.**

 _Flashback to 1982: Hunt heard a noise from abandoned boarded up blocks of council flats and presumed that some young people had broken in so he decided to investigate. In order to enter the property, he kicked the door open and it was some squatters playing their ghetto boxes at full blast, taking crack cocaine; who were determined to harm the teenage police officer; where, as a young Manchester constable, he worked with DCI Harry Outhwaite — a legendary D-Day veteran who was accepting bribes from a local gangster Stephen Warren. Seeing it was the right thing to do, Hunt reported Outhwaite to his superior officers._

 **DCI EUGENE HUNT. DOB: 10th of February 1963. Height 6 ft 11 ins.**

But during the 1980s and early 1990s decade was convinced that old-school policing methods were on their way to being excised from the force, along with the officers who still practice them for good reason; in which he was part of the Operation Countrymen assignments as an aspiring teen police officer, designed to expose corruption in the Police Force during which a super young Hunt begins to notice that files and evidence have gone missing and/or were tampered with. It is revealed that Rose is the code name for an upcoming robbery of a van carrying gold-bullion, masterminded by corrupt old school police officers who were eventually retired during this decade; due to their questionable practises and old age. Gene Hunt, despite his very young age at the time, brings them down as this would set the seeds for the Police and Criminal Evidence Act in 1984 plus the 1994 updating of the police caution with various others inbetween.

Carling is described by Hunt as "a bent copper's right-hand man when it comes to downright illegal fighting, shooting, gambling, banned policing techniques; dated as _The Sweeney_ and their horrifying disrespect to ladies!" when he recalls his early days in Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House station during 1982-1987 before transferring to 'A' Division as a Detective Inspector in '88.

Gene Hunt characterises his younger self as "skinny," occasionally headstrong, and full of childish boyish bravado. Hunt's former Guvs have been described as "not being scared of throwing a few punches to get a result"; whereas Sam Tyler, Gene Hunt and Alex Drake are present day detectives who value forensic evidence and thorough investigative techniques rather than corruption and violence. Sam Tyler, has stated that both he and Hunt have an enormous respect for the other's approach to policing as well as Hunt seeing much of his younger self in Tyler circa 1988.

Alex and Gene danced in her apartment along to Spandu Ballet's 'True'. She rest her head on his shoulders; the pair then look up into each other's eyes before nearly kiss but are rudely interrupted by Keats. At the end of their first date, Alex and Gene share a kiss.

He demonstrates his willingness to report corrupt officers who accept bribes from criminals — a practice which he continues after the local Manchester crime boss, murdered a girl for helping him on one of his very first cases in GMP Criminal Investigations Department. He was initially slightly disdainful of female police officers as a young teen; however since WPC Annie Cartwright's promotion to CID in the late 1990s or early 2000s, and accepts her as a part of the team. Since then Gene Hunt's been smitten with the women on his team - especially one DI Alexandra "Alex" Drake (nee Price) when she first joined Metropolitan Police in 2004 from training as a police psychologist. Hunt's major rivals in the police force are DCI Derek Litton of the Greater Manchester Police CID (since he transferred to London after nearly 22 years at Greater Manchester Police). By then Hunt transferred out of the Greater Manchester Police, to the Metropolitan Police Service, alongside DC Chris Skelton, DC Annie Cartwright and DI Sam Tyler who grew up with him in Manchester as children in the 1970s-1980s.

In 1988, when Greater Manchester Police CID was struggling, Hunt was promoted to Detective Inspector and transferred to "A" Division, CID of the Stopford House police station under DCI Harry Woolf who became his mentor (two and a bit years before demoted ex DCI Ray Carling retires); he continued this position until 1997; staying in Manchester to 2004 when he transferred to London Metropolitan Police Fenchurch East CID at the age of nearly forty one.

As the Detective Chief Inspector of London Metropolitan Police's Fenchurch East CID, Hunt is respected by the faithful and subordinate members of his team.

He has embraced many aspects of modern policing, in fact Gene hasn't lost an ounce of passion - he's only seen it flourish since being that lanky police constable in 1982 determined to nab that crafty house breaker or find a lost dog. It later appears that Hunt was the very young officer who took Drake's hand when she was a child, following her parents death from a Ford Escort MkIII Ghia car bomb explosion, she was only eight and he was nineteen with eleven years between them.

DI Gene Hunt tells the Woman's Police Constable "I was ten in 1973, Anna. I was still playing with me Corgi Ford Cortina GXL, listening to my glam rock records and wanting sweets with me mates after school." Gene was flabbergasted at how he could be a police officer, ten years from his birth in 1963!

"Don't be silly, you've just had an accident; come off with that nonsense." said WPC Anna Cartwright, who would have Annie five and a half or six years later in 1979.

"This isn't the CID I remember; that flowery wallpaper was fading, this filing cabinet your psycho DCI shoved me into never worked properly since 1988 when I first became a Detective Inspector, eight years on the trot before being DCI!" Over the course of this fan-fiction, Gene Hunt faces various culture clashes, most frequently regarding the differences between his modern approach to policing and the more traditional methods of his colleagues. He could see two ashtrays per desk, typewriters and rotary telephones with stacks of incomplete messy paper work with cigarette smoke hanging on the ceilings.

"Shall I get a chair and you better get started; Genie glam boy!" threatened DCI Ray Carling who stamped on his cigarette into the carpet, not bothering to stub it out into a bin. "You look like that cross dressing poofter David Bowie with your hairstyle! And your manicured nails smell of fruitcake bubblegum!"

Gene's strait-laced and modern manner, however, brings him into constant conflict with Ray and his team, who prefer old-fashioned methods of policing. Raymond Carling is an old style cop, not scared of throwing a few punches to get a result. He is also happy to frame people regardless of whether the evidence points to them or not, to manufacture or destroy evidence in pursuit of a result and to accept bribes. Gene Hunt describes him as "overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding" (Ray's reply: "You make that sound like a bad thing.") Ray is supported by the team of DS and DC Collin Skelton. Ray, although loyal to the force, is portrayed as a misogynistic bully and serves as an antagonist towards Gene throughout this storyline.

The WPC can only explain it as psychological trauma from his car crash. The character's presence and eventual promotion provide a way for this fan-fiction to explore the extent to which female officers of the time were undermined, underused, and harassed.

Gene also occasionally encounters people in 1973 whom he knows in the 21st Century including suspects, friends and his own parents.

DCI Gene Hunt is from a more politically correct era, where suspects' rights and the preservation of forensic evidence are more stringently observed. This frequently leads to clashes with his counterparts in 1973, when sexism, racism, police brutality and institutionalised minor corruption are casually regarded as routine parts of the job.

Gene is indeed in a medically induced coma, and that we are seeing his imaginary idea of 1973, filtered through 1970s cop shows and being ten at the time.

He notices a familiar bronze Ford Cortina MkIII GXL in the car park wearing a distinctive black vinyl roof and Rostyle alloys "That will eventually wind up seven years later as my very first executive Ford as a 17 year old kid in 1980; brought second hand!" remarked DCI Gene Hunt still in shock.

"What d' y' mean second 'and?" sniggered DCI Ray Carling "That's a brand new K reg car! Cortinas were only around for eleven years since 1962!" loudly laughing at his modern Detective Inspector. "Anyway I'm going to get cracking on the admin; those files won't write themselves. Yer nothing than a dinosaur bully; just wait until the 1980s and early 1990s where I stamp you out of the Police Force, bye-bye bullies in blue!" remarked DI Gene Hunt who is wearing an open necked collared t-shirt, leather jacket and red flared trousers with white platform shoes. A remarked difference from his usual formal clothing he wore in the 21st Century as DCI of London's Met Police in Fenchurch East.

"Susie looks like a Christmas turkey in the cells." said one of the male Detective Constables sat at an aisle desk eating a bacon sarnie, with ketchup ending on a magazine of topless girls and a topaz necklace which was supposed to be bagged up as evidence, but he didn't do so before his sloppy snack tampers with DNA traces.

Gene follows a series of crimes which have been committed with the same _modus operandi_ in both 2013 and 1973. The clash of cultures between Hunt and others relates mainly to the lack of importance placed on forensic science in 1973.

Gene Hunt, driving back from the crime scene ( _the song 'Life On Mars' playing_ ), stricken with grief, pulls over and steps out of his Ford Mondeo Titanium X to compose himself, and is hit by a speeding car. When he wakes up, he's now living in the Manchester of 1973. He is now a detective inspector transferred from 'C' Division in Hyde and his new boss, DCI Ray Carling is a living representation of everything the police force has tried to stop itself being in the 21st Century. Ray is a sexist, pompous and arrogant man who uses his weight in the station to great effect. He takes the attitude of "shoot first, then ask questions." The rest of Gene's colleagues, including DC Collin Skelton and DS Carter Waterman are of the same vein. They all think the new boy is a little strange because of his frequent outbursts and what appears to them as erratic behaviour.

DC Skelton unearths from records a forgotten complaint from Beryl Raimes (Colin Raimes's grandmother) about a noisy neighbour. Re-questioning Mrs Raimes, they discover that the noise from his records stopped after her complaint. Putting two and two together, Gene races to the neighbour's address. Annie's mother realises it is the house next door to where Colin Raimes lives in the present day with an Atomic Rooster record blaring at high volume. They arrest the long-haired neighbour when he returns to the room.

Back at the station, Gene and WPC Cartwright discuss what will happen to the serial killer. Gene believes he will go down for life, but Cartwright (Annie's mother) knows that because of a psychiatrist report found at the house, he will be sent to an institution and be back on the streets in about 30 years. Gene struggles with his conscience, but finally follows her advice and puts the report in the bin, which will mean the killer will receive a life sentence. Ray reluctantly welcomes him to the team.

"Welcome to the team, Gene." said DCI Ray Carling stood near his dartboard.


	4. Chapter 4: Tony Crane Torments Gene Hunt

**After being involved in a car accident in 2013, DCI Gene Hunt wakes up to find himself in 1973, the era of 'Sweeney' type policing, Mark III Cortinas, and flared trousers. Gene sees the chance to prevent a murder when he comes across the younger version of** **Tony Crane** **, a villain he and Sam Tyler will arrest in the future.**

* * *

DI Gene Hunt has a row of PCs do a fingertip search, much to the amusement of the 1970s police officers. " # Now hands that do dishes soft as your skin, with mild green Fairy liquid #" sniggering at their 21st Century equivalent "Piss off, you two bit bent police officers!" yelled DI Gene Hunt "In an orderly line, please! One at a time!" as the scene of the crime had been cordoned off with rope; since blue and white stripy police tape hasn't even been though of yet.

Gene is commanding the Police Constables "Now what do we do, when finding a piece of vital evidence?" he smiled, one of the officers muttered under his breath "Wait for forensics..." he sighed in a bored tone.

WPC Anna Cartwright "I cordoned off the scene, on your say so." Gene Hunt pointed out gesturing with his favourite black leather driving gloves "Now that's why we need woman police officers, you'll be the rule in the future. Through and by the book."

Ray angrily tells Gene to find a new DC for the team if he's so clever. "I need a new sarge, alright Daphne find me a new DC!" snarled the rough Detective Chief Inspector who bumped his demoted officer

CID go to check out the Wild Card Casino. Gene is shocked to find the owner is Tony Crane, a villain he and Sam will know in the future. Crane is cooperative, despite his own aggressive questioning, and shows that the victim was not a member of the club and that the casino doesn't use crown chips like the one found on the bus.

DCI Ray Carling seems satisfied and goes off to play blackjack, but Gene starts poking around. He tells Anna that he had a solid case against Crane in the future, but it must have fallen apart if Crane is free to torture him. "My Crown Prosecution Service submission was sound, I leave the brainless idiots of CID to the case and suddenly it falls apart?!" Annie Cartwright's mother steps outside the casino with him "Calm down, Gene, you're not making any sense. It fell apart due to some of our team tampering with evidence, there isn't much you can do about that." she replied to the bemused future Detective Chief Inspector.

That night Gene is woken by nightmares and visions of a woman, Eve, both as he saw her at the casino that day, and covered in blood in the future. In the future, Crane murders Eve to stop her testifying against him. DI Gene Hunt stops Eve on the street and tries to convince her that Crane will eventually marry her and make her life miserable, but she dismisses him.

Later, in the canteen, Gene studies the file on Tony Crane while a worried Anna tries to get Gene to eat something and relax. Picking up his dropped file, Gene suddenly notices a picture of Crane and Eve, with Eve holding a crown chip. In Tony's office, Gene, desperate and exhausted, starts talking about their future selves. Crane really thinks Gene has lost his mind. Sam claims he can put Crane behind bars for life and that Ray will go along with it. Crane calls in one of his thugs and orders him to get rid of the futuristic copper. "Well, it's a crying shame because I actually liked DCI Ray Carling." the younger Tony Crane quipped.

Back at the station, Gene and Anna try to think of a way to link Crane to the murders. Anna interrupts to show them she has found one of the henchmen's inhaler, found during the fingertip search. Unfortunately it's not enough to put Crane away for long. They confront Crane but he confidently says the case will fall apart because Gene is insane and he tells them Gene is from the future. As they all look at Gene Hunt, he confirms the story. But he then says it's Crane's idea and that he should be examined by a psychiatrist.

Detective Inspector Gene Hunt said "He'll plea bargain, reduce it to six years and be out in three. Ten years is a shoddy standard for a life sentence. Tony Crane has the money to make it happen."

A 67 year old rich Tony Crane appears in DI Gene Hunt's 2013 predictions as he is a psychiatric outpatient who has been institutionalised when Gene was just ten years of age since 1973.


	5. Chapter 5: The Police Safebreakers

**But as Gene investigates deeper into the robberies, he finds that there is a more powerful culprit behind them - someone who is closer to the 1970s Greater Manchester Police CID team than he first realised. A** **young, black Detective Constable, Glen Fletcher, arrives and is immediately the target of racist jokes. DI Gene Hunt and Annie's mother are sick of their team's disrespect towards the immigrant police officers.**

* * *

Nemesis, Arnold Malone, is behind the kidnapping as he began his criminality in 1953 when DCI Raymond Carling was just 19 years of age first starting in Lancashire Constabulary as a flat feet copper. Malone is an extremely dangerous career criminal and the Superintendent believes he sprung Dickie Fingers for a big job; Fletcher was one of the force's first black recruits who went on to become a highly respected officer and an inspiration to ethnic minorities.

Ray has little sympathy for Gene, but he does have a name behind the kidnapping—Harcourt. Gene tells the team to go through 30 years of records from 1953-1973 to find the name. the old fashioned coppers balk at this idea and moan, but Gene introduces some help in the form of a young black recruit named Glen Fletcher. Annie's mother is stunned, WDC Anna Cartwright, Gene and Chris are friendly, but Ray their DCI acts the "resident Neanderthal" as the mullet wearing 21st Century police officer puts it, making racial remarks. Fletcher meanwhile tries to fit in by making fun of himself, much to the dismay of Gene. Fletcher says he heard Gene's name when he was in the 1997 version of Greater Manchester Police CID; 23 and a bit years away.

"Glen, you don't have to act the fool around 'ere" said DI Gene Hunt "I remember you being worth more than this CID's cheap humour; do you want to be a good police officer for the immigrant workforce in Britain?" he asked "Or do you want to play the Uncle Tom fool and set bad examples? Your choice." as DI Gene Hunt walks back to his neat aisle desk, ignoring their usual racist jokes; never rising to them. "Oh, he's a right little smart-arse." to Gene, "So, what do you suggest, Buddha? Y' know y' onions!"

Gene arrives to find the van driver bound and gagged in the street. He reports three armed men robbed him and a skinny man opened the safe. "Isn't your van meant to have a Securicor logo? Where's your safety visor, bullet proof vest, identification badge and you shouldn't really be handling a safe full of cash due to be put into Post Office savings accounts on your own, do you have a partner - it's quite simple." he asked shocked that cash was driven around town unsecured in those days without police escorting on their vehicles.

"What would I need all that for? Nine year I've been driving this van, no problems." the vested man said after Gene removes the mouth gag and cuts the white handkerchief to ensure it can't cut off the security driver's oxygen supply and that he doesn't get cold as it had been raining when the 21st Century Detective Chief Inspector arrives at the scene first.

Anticipating more robberies, Gene proposes creating a "league table" of likely targets. Ray takes a more straightforward approach—nabbing Malone at gunpoint. Questioned at the station, Malone says he doesn't have Dickie. When Ray comes in, Malone taunts him and Gene has to pull him off the villain. To prove to Ray he doesn't know where Dickie is, Malone reveals that Dickie will be at a post office robbery in one hour. Ray quickly organises the team to be undercover at the Post Office, although Gene thinks they could be walking into a trap.

"What's all this database nonsense?!" sneered DCI Ray Carling, Gene answers "The burglars usually research more than a dozen possibilities from weak spots, level of security and whether there's vulnerable assets i.e. money, designer gear or jewellery." Ray laughs "This is all science fiction claptrap!"

Gene arrives at the Post Office with his unashamedly blue Ford Granada MkI GXL; worries there are still too may real customers out front doing the usual rounds of birthday presents, parcels and savings accounts with the counter clerks. "Remember happy birthdays, begin with the postman.", "I know I miss shillings too." one said to an elderly lady and another quoted "Don't spend it all at once." The real customers eventually leave the Post Office as CID close up.

At four o'clock exactly, masked robbers burst in and order everyone down on the floor. The safe cracker takes the stocking off his head: it's Dickie Fingers. As soon as he gets the safe open, CID charge in, capturing the gang.

The next morning Gene and Anna arrive at the front desk to find out from Phyllis that a fight broke out in the cells and Dickie Fingers disappeared in the confusion. Gene is worried because Dickie feared for his life, and the front desk duty roster is missing, but Phyllis assures him it's a "cock-up, not a conspiracy."

Upstairs, Glen Fletcher doesn't want to go with Gene to follow the Superintendent. Gene lectures him about responsibility, principles, and how Glen wants to be remembered. Glen comes along.

Sitting in the blue Triumph 2000 saloon car together, Glen wonders why Gene is showing such an interest in him. Superintendent Warner interrupts, knocking on the window, and cheekily confesses to having made a phone call from the bookies. Ray screeches around the corner in the Cortina and, when Gene approaches, grabs him by the collar. And that Gene now thinks Warner masterminded the robberies.

Anna is outraged and Gene demands answers. Glen Fletcher says he was following orders from Henry Warner.

Afterwards, Glen thanks Gene for not reporting him for letting Dickie Fingers go. Gene replies that he can pay him back by being a good example.

Gene's replies is a play on words based on the title of detective drama series _Softly Softly_ (1966–1969), a spin off from _Z Cars_ (1962–1978), the long-running BBC police drama series. Coincidentally, Philip Glenister's father, John Glenister, directed episodes of both series.


	6. Chapter 6: DCI Ray Carling Caught Out

**Chapter six has DCI Ray Carling convicted of murdering a young suspect. He has the black-and-white, carved in stone worldview of a 'real man' of his era. Gene's childhood was very harsh because his father was an abusive drinker who often beat him and his brother Stuart in the 1970s; this showcases his reporting of corrupt police officers since that fateful day. A young girl was murdered by a Manchester Mr. Big after Gene helped her as a witness in the Warren nightclub during his very first case in 1988 as a Detective Inspector under Greater Manchester Police CID. It introduces an acting DCI Brandon; one of my own original characters for this Life on Mars UK + Ashes to Ashes crossover.**

* * *

DCI Morgan Haskins who actually uses Gene's modern police techniques and vocabulary, to help him out with very modern policing methods and public relations talk. Next morning, Sam Williams receives a call from Gene saying it appears Ray's killed a man. Following a road safety lesson in a playgroup with some children during a Tufty the Squirrel road safety club session, WDC Annie Cartwright is told by Sam "Gene's just alerted me to Ray Carling murdering a young man; whose only vice is occasionally flashing at mothers with young children."

"Well what are you all doing standing about here, then? Go out there and do your jobs properly." intoned DI Gene Hunt as the lazy coppers sat at their aisle desks in the large CID room "Go into the records room doing admin for a change or get those jam sandwiches moving!" he clapped to catch their attention on the case that involves their loyal DCI murdering a young man after being intoxicated at the Railway Arms pub last night, Gene had to drive the drunken Guv in this bronze Cortina MkIII as Carling was clearly well over the drink driving limit. In the present day; Gene's uniformed team had an electronic breathalyser with a larger one based at Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House police station.

"Henry. Or is it Harry? Hairy? Hazza?" Ray asked, sitting down at the desk in the Lost & Found and crossing his arms. "I have a feeling you can give me some assistance. And you better pray that you do, or there's to be a plaque up on my wall with your nasty little head stapled on."

"I'm DI Eugene Stephen Michael Hunt of Greater Manchester Police." Throughout his years of policework, Gene Hunt had perfected a glare. It was a glare that said "you are the muck on my shoe and I never want to speak to you again," all within a second. It was with this glare that he confronted DCI Carling.

Gene knew there was nothing he could say. He knew that the actions he very desperately wanted to take would likely make the situation worse. There was no obvious recourse. Gene would have to surrender control. But that did not mean that he was going to roll over like some excitable puppy, happy to do whatever his master wished. He was going to fight his way through to get DCI Ray Carling charged with police corruption, murder and suspended from the Force to discipline and complaints.

Oh he knew how it went, he'd played this game himself. Saying that he was too involved in the case was just another way of saying that he was devoting too much time and too many resources to it. Like it was a fair cop to give him a day in which to work to get results, and then punish him when he didn't quite succeed. Yes, do your damnedest to get the information you need, but only for a limited amount of time. There was a suitable period of investigation and then that was it. The case unsolved? So what? It got filed away in a little box marked done.

It almost took more than he was willing to sacrifice, but Gene stepped aside and started walking to the canteen. He wanted to brief Ray's team before handing them over. After opening the doors and stepping inside, it was obvious to him that everyone knew the current situation. Worse than a bunch of fishwives, the police. Any topic could be a hot topic, and everybody had to know every infinitesimal detail of everybody else's business.

"By the looks of you, you're all aware that DCI Brandon is now the one to go to for paperclips and a good kick up the arse," Gene announced to the room. There was a murmur of laughter from all in attendance. "That means, if you're going to hassle me, you better bloody well have a fantastic reason. In extreme cases, you may even need a bodyguard. Good day."

Behind Gene Hunt is an area sectioned off with fake walls. A silhouette can be seen moving through the glass windows. The door opens and a man comes out. This is DCI RAY CARLING. He's about Gene's age, largeish, with a nondescript shirt and trousers, and a loose, hideously patterned tie. He has a cigarette in his mouth. He leans on the doorframe. The modern 21st Century DCI looks him up and down.

The mullet bearing police officer answered back "You intimidated my young witness, Harry Crawford and when he couldn't answer any more of your questions; you made him crumble, through your downright dangerous and illegal interview methods." pointing at Ray "You're in gross breach of the Police And Criminal Evidence Act 1984 and contravening the 1998 Human Rights Act!"

Ray laughed "Police whatsit? Very dynamic, Genie glam boy!" It just made Gene Hunt even more determined to get on to the old school police officer's games.

"Where I come from, you'd be suspended immediately as I noticed you didn't have a lawyer present throughout the interview and where is your cassette tape recorder?! So the transcript can be used as evidence? Did you even read the 1994 Police Cautioning Act for the suspect still held in Custody?" shocked at the Guv's ignorance and uneducated stance.

Throughout his years of policing since 1982, Gene Hunt had perfected a glare. It was a glare that showed zero tolerance towards corrupt and violently underhand police officers as he never tolerated those types since witnessing some horrors in 1980s Greater Manchester Police at the very same Stopford House location. He wouldn't hesitate to report DCI Ray Carling to Discipline and Complaints.

A bronze car is parked outside. Inside the car, we hear Gene cough wishing right now he had his strawberry or cola _Hubba Bubba_ bubble gum on him. The Cortina smelt of cigarettes with beer cans of Double Diamond strewn on the dashboard and half eaten packets of _Golden Wonder_ crisps.

"This car is disgusting." moaned Gene who couldn't stand sitting in the rear of the smoker's Cortina any longer.

"So? Get out." smirked DCI Ray Carling with his loyal right hand men whom worshiped him like a father figure they never had.

"Oi, you'll pay for that!" as DI Gene Hunt confiscated Ray's cigarettes immediately and banned smoking in the car.

"It's a bloody shit heap! Compared to my beloved Ford Mondeo Titanium X." intoned Gene who barred most of the 1973 CID from his Granada GXL due to their disgusting habits in Ray's loved Cortina.

"My thoughts exactly. How are you, Henry-dude? Long time, no see." as DI Gene Hunt protects the young witness from Ray's brutal black and blue beatings.

Gene Hunt and Sam Williams walk down the stairs to Custody.

"A monkey could have got a confession out of Billy Kemble. Mike Tyson wades in, now he's refusing to say a word."

DCI Ray Carling violently beats up DI Gene Hunt's young witness, he is powerless to stop the violence from happening as it brings back his bad memories of 1982-1987 Greater Manchester Police as he was only a teenager at the time. Merely a new broom in a uniform when some of Ray's team still around at that time teased him mercifully for being lanky. " _Gene Genie, you need more meat around you, 'cause you're too skinny to be a copper!"_

"What is that, a double negative? Don't they teach you anything in nutter school these days?" asked DI Gene Hunt.

DCI Carling threatens "I get out of here, the first thing I'll do is knife your future missus as a baby." as Gene looks on and whimpers in fear with the witness being smacked hard, then a telephone receiver gets hit on Crawford's hand.

"Oh, shut up and share nicely, Guv." said DI Gene Hunt who was clearly bored with the culture on intimidation of crime witnesses.

"Squeal, piggy, squeal!" The Guv imitates a pig, then looks at Gene.

There is a flash forward of Rusholme in 2013 hearing "Toxic" (by Britney Spears) and a smart mobile phone.

"This is the real deal. Mind you, it looked a bit different last time I was here." said Gene who introduced a young DC Collin Skelton to his favourite curry house 40 years earlier. It happened because he mentioned his Apple iPhone being "missing".

Inside the curry house restaurant with Gene and Collin eating, although in the background. In the foreground is a radio.

"Oh. No no no no. No. The missus is staying with her mother Caroline Price. I don't eat alone. The users start off casual, then the addiction spirals and they end up funding their habit through crime."

The radio begins playing Pulp's Disco 2000, Gene could recognise it from 1996.

 ** _# Let's all meet up in the year 2000... #_**

 ** _"_** That's Pulp. I saw them play the Nynex in '96." Gene recalls the song from a Pulp concert he saw in 1996, twenty three years later.

To the restaurant customers, it sounds like bland seventies easy-listening music.

Collin and Gene arriving back at the police station. It's dark and apparently deserted. They go behind the custody desk and look around.

"What the hell is going on? Why is nobody out on—" asked DI Gene Hunt at the guilty looking officers.

Gene looks from the CID lads on his right to the uniformed women on his left. Everyone looks uncomfortable and guilty.

"When did you last check on Billy Kemble? You should have conducted half-hourly welfare checks." an angry Gene shouts; furious at the 1970s equivalents for not doing their job according to his modern procedures and regulations.

Gene almost screaming "Did your DCI attack Kemble?" Desk officer Phyllis Dobbs denies all knowledge despite witnessing the custody and interview incidents.

"Billy Kemble was summoned into Interview right as rain. A few hours later he's covered in injuries and stiff as a board." he continued.

"I told you what'd happen if you put him in with me, good copper. I'm not the one who should be examining me conscience." as DCI Ray Carling pins Billy Kemble to the Formica table.

"Yeah, well, that little rough and tumble could have brought on a heart attack." as Gene safely tries to pull an aggressive DCI Ray Carling off Billy Kemble "He was beaten up by a nutter who should have been put away years ago. One scumbag copper that should be offed and rot into retirement."

"Once the post-mortem has been done, we'll nail a confession from DCI Ray Carling. In the meantime, you get your statements written up and in to me. You keep them simple. No cause for fretting." said Acting DCI Brandon who agrees with Gene's modern and futuristic methods of policing.

"It's not your fault." reassured Gene as Annie's mother was close to tears over the incident involving her boss "Just because you were on duty. You're not to blame."

"What I mean is, something like this... post-traumatic stress can cause.. shock... or, or guilt." said DCI Brandon who almost sounded like he too was from the future like Gene Hunt.

"The situation tonight should never have happened." quoted DI Gene Hunt who couldn't believe the level of miscarriage on justice and the incident DCI Ray Carling caused while he was out having a curry in Rusholme.

"So why did you let them put him in that cell? Phyllis you've got some explaining to do; when I submit this incident to Discipline and Complaints." the fun loving mullet hair styled office said as he left the large CID room.

Meanwhile DI Gene Hunt pays a visit to Discipline and Complaints with the Superintendent sat at his desk thumbing through paperwork.

"There was an altercation in the cells and interview room. We've still to verify the exact chain of events. But everything seems to have been done in accordance with the correct procedural guidelines." stated DI Gene Hunt "There has to be a transparent investigation. If we can't police ourselves, how are the public supposed to trust us?" he nodded at the Superintendent Rathbone; hoping he'll notice what DCI Ray Carling has been up to in the Lost Property room.

"Is this what you do? Bust through stations, ripping them apart, destroying the camaraderie?" snarled the hard nosed Detective Chief Inspector who was sick of Gene Hunt's modern policing methods. The WPC Anna Cartwright remarked "Do you know how many times I've defended you to people in this station? And now you take it on yourself to investigate us!"

"Phwoar! There it is again. Egg sarnies." said an insolent DCI Ray Carling who was stood around the Stop House police station.

"For the tenth time, Phyllis, I need that charge sheet." DI Gene Hunt insisted on cross referencing the charge sheets and studying them as his gut instinct told him there's a corrupt Detective Chief Inspector inside Greater Manchester Police, in that year he was just only ten.

"Look, I have a station to keep running, you know. I'll fetch it up when I can lay me hands on it." Phyllis Dobbs was attempting to put a new poster up.

"Come _on!_ It can't be that difficult to find!" yelled Gene.

He goes through the pile of paper.

"Oi, you've no need to go snooping!" Phyllis Dobbs sternly told the unusual mullet hairstyled police officer.

"There. Now, was that so difficult? Apparently not. Seeing as there's two of them. For the same night." said DI Gene Hunt who raised an eyebrow of suspicion.

GENE and PHYLLIS going down the steps outside. Phyllis is taking drags from a cigarette.

"It weren't even my ruddy shift. I had a kip, hour and a half. Two hours max." she yelled.

DI Gene Hunt asked "You failed to mention sleep in your statement?" as he knew both statements for that same night didn't tally up.

"Oh aye, that's the first thing I'd put in. Asleep on the job, with me lad up choking on his chips. I mean, maybe if this station weren't run like Fred Karno's Army, I wouldn't have had to cover? But no, it's always the women what cop the flak." feeling frustration towards her CID macho corrupt colleagues.

"Why did you have to rewrite the charge sheet? No good will come from covering up for a corrupt officer." intoned Gene sternly.

"You're upsetting my officers. They're following a serious line of enquiry to find Billy Kemble's supplier. You're stopping them from carrying out that work." said DCI Ray Carling who intimidated Gene even though the DI was much taller.

DI Gene Hunt used his 21st Century policing buzzwords towards his 1970s counterpart immediately "There are questions I need them to answer." he continued until Ray Carling got the hinted message "Questions such as, why do their statements and the charge sheet not tally? Why did they fail to notify us that Phyllis had fallen asleep on duty? Why did WPC Cartwright not call a doctor when Billy Kemble complained he was feeling ill? Useful things, charge sheets. If you bother to look at them."

"I'm taking you off duty. Go home. Go back to Hyde, I don't care. But you don't come anywhere near my station. Get out. Now!" screamed the Detective Chief Inspector.

"Get off me! I'm a copper, not a villain!" complained Chris Skelton's father. "Guv'll have me guts for garters if I talk to you."

"The charge sheet... says you visited Billy Kemble just after midnight. Now, that makes you the last person to see him alive." said DI Gene Hunt who sat his future Detective Constable's father down to have a conversation.

"We were just trying to get a result, that's all. Please the guv. Ray said he'd thought of a way to get a name out of Kemble. Phyllis was asleep. That's why Ray wasn't down on the charge sheet. I had to go and fetch the wotchamacallit, which took me ten minutes, by which time, Anna was back and my name goes on the charge sheet." The young teenage DC had a panicked tone of voice on his facial expressions.

"Hang on, what did you have to go and fetch?" asked DI Gene Hunt who was attempting to reassure the 1973 equivalent to his DC Chris Skelton years later.

"The tape recorder. It's what I do now, since you showed us."

"So there's a tape of what happened in that cell and interview room — and you haven't seen fit to mention that?"

Back at the 1973 Greater Manchester Police station, Gene goes into the locker room searching for the alleged cassette tape.

"I told him to destroy it and instead, he trusts it to a plonk." DCI Ray Carling was on the prowl, stepping into Gene's way as he went to leave.

"Get out of me way. What, you really believe we're gonna have a punch-up over this tape?" asked DI Gene Hunt who was asserting himself as if he is in 2013's London Metropolitan Police CID at Fenchurch East.

"Banned from the station. Breaking into lockers, stealing possessions. How bad are you trying to look? Give it to me. Are you gonna give it to me, or am I going to have to take it?"

At the Superintendent's desk after listening to the tape footage.

"DCI Ray Carling catches more villains than the rest of this department put together. I boot him out, dozens of villains in this city go uncollared."

DCI Ray Carling eventually admits the incident to DI Gene Hunt. "You see, these lads, they think they're made in my image. But they've never learnt where to draw the line and it scares the shit out of me."

It dawns on Gene as Annie's mother and Dean's own father have to live with this incident for the rest of their lives.

"Well, I'm hardly gonna investigate my own team. Would have been suicide for morale. You were the only one I could trust." said DCI Carling. "Well, isn't that how you've always fancied yourself? The moral compass in a dodgy department?" he continued with his straight curly hair and moustache in brown ginger.

"Gene, when is this gonna stop? We are people, we have lives, we're not some game created just for your benefit. You think you give that tape to the Super and we just melt away? If I could go back in time and do things differently, I would. We all would. We have to live with what we did, we don't need you to punish us. You've got my career, my life, in your hands."

 **PHYLLIS's VOICE** "Alpha One to 9-2-0."

"9-2-0 to Alpha One." said WPC Anna Cartwright.

"DCI Carling requests that we get our arses in CID pronto. Says if DI Hunt's with you, get him there and all."

Inside CID the officers are carrying out their usual business; while one is on the telephone inconsiderate of this incident's scare.

"You will only participate in other investigations at my discretion. Half your wages for the next twelve months, including any overtime, will be deducted by me and given directly to the Police Benevolent Fund." said DI Gene Hunt who was true to his manifesto he had since 1982 during his earliest days in Greater Manchester Police Stopford House.

 **RATHBONE** "I don't much care for popular music."

"You'll like that even less. It demonstrates the manslaughter of a prisoner by one of your officers." DCI Gene Hunt said quietly.

"A world... which creates coppers like Ray. Awash with... institutionalised corruption. You know, people like Rathbone need to be surgically removed from the force." as DI Gene Hunt leaves 1973 Manchester to return to 2013 as he's now solved all the crimes with similar patterns in his future position as Detective Chief Inspector.


	7. Chapter 7: De Ja Vu 2013 in London

**Chapter seven sees DCI Gene Hunt safely returned in 2013; he however had very interesting dreams of the very same crimes taking place in 1973 Manchester, in that year he was just ten. However Gene faces an entirely different challenge where his former boss has taken PCSO Sharon Grainger hostage, in exchange revenge for his hospital admission six months previously.**

* * *

Shots of London office buildings such as "The Gherkin", partially-demolished 122 Leadenhall Street, etc, seen as if moving along in the streets below, looking up. Sounds of sirens, building works etc. One of Anthony Gormley's statues of a human figure ("Event Horizon") is seen on the roof of one building.

"Charlie 75 to DCI Hunt." Police radio "South Bank, outside Tate Modern. Gunman has taken female hostage. Trojan units are assigned. Over."

 _Interior of GENE's car driving through London._

"Roger that." as Gene chewed his Hubba Bubba bubblegum in his ever blue 2013 Ford Mondeo Titanium X.

"Shit! Pass me the thing. Bolls. Pass me, pass me." as DCI Gene Hunt was paying attention to the road ahead watching for typical London traffic as the streets were packed with tourists.

Alex opens the window and puts the light on the roof of DCI Gene Hunt's blue Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition.

 _SIREN BLARES_

"OK. Hold on. This is gonna be quite a good challenge: a crazed elderly ex copper holding our PCSO Shazzer Grainger hostage." quipped Gene who was listening to Howard Jones _What is Love Anyway?_ in his beloved top of the range Ford Mondeo. It was a song that blended the swinging 60s optimism of hippies with 1980s-early 1990s synthetic electronic music.

 **# I love you whether or not you love me. I love you even if you think that I don't. Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you. But I don't mind. Why should I mind. What is love anyway. I love you whether or not you love me. I love you even if you think that I don't. Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you, but I don't mind. Why should I mind, why should I mind. What is Love anyway, does anybody love anybody anyway. What is Love anyway, does anybody love anybody anyway What is Love anyway, does anybody love anybody anyway Can anybody love anyone so** … **#**

 _GENE swings the car round violently._

 _GENE's car has pulled up outside foreboding-looking buildings; she and Gene get out._

 _"_ Start talking, Sergeant." barked DCI Gene Hunt bringing some semblance of order to the scene.

DS Dean Carling reports the situation "IC1 male, Ray Carling - my father. He may be under the influence of alcohol. He's taken one of our PCSO's hostage. Frankly he might do anything, ma'am."

DI Alex Drake sternly intoned "OK, I was supposed to be taking my daughter to school,"

"My dad says he'll shoot her, if she doesn't talk to him." said DS Dean Carling.

DI Alex Drake was flabbergasted "What?" in shock over the fact the elderly former Greater Manchester Police officer could do exactly anything even though he is now 83 retired for twenty seven years. "No!" screamed PCSO Sharon Grainger who tried to call out for help.

Gene then checks the status of any other colleagues "Armed Response?"

"On their way." DC Chris Skelton reminded.

DCI Gene Hunt sighs.

"Christ, on a bike!"

"Excuse me, excuse me please." as Detective Inspector Alex Drake pushed past the crowd of witnesses gathering around the siege near the Thames Valley river as ex DCI Ray Carling increasingly gets more unpredictable within ten metres.

"You stop there, you fancy tart!" Alex freezes in position obeying the ex GMP police officer's orders despite being out of service since 1990.

DCI Gene Hunt approaches his former Guv confidently showing his warrant card.

"I know who you are! I remember when you were a kiddie div like your Christopher; back in the Eighties!"

"You asked to speak to me, Guv. I'm DCI Gene Hunt." he continued reasoning with his former boss "If you let this young lady go, we can discuss..."

"Discuss what, the old days?" as PCSO Sharon Grainger makes good her escape from the crazed ex copper.

Gene orders the Armed Response team into position "Marksmen, hold your fire. DI Alex Drake is negotiating with the subject that is my former Guv. I repeat, hold your fire."

"I help people who are trapped find an escape route." DI Alex Drake stated "I'm a police psychologist and I study people's psychiatric evaluations."

Ex DCI Ray Carling continues ranting and raving "Yeah? I see you, this is my show!" to DCI Gene Hunt "I remember when you were a little boy. You're the spitting image of your father."

"What? But that was in the 70s, I always wanted to be a police officer same as Sammy dude; since we were kids in Manchester." Gene looks shocked at how his former boss could still remember all this information from his policing days; despite having dementia.

"Boom!" said ex DCI Ray Carling in the voice that grew much gruffer than when he was forty three in 1973.

"Don't shoot, there's a child or vulnerable adult involved. Hold your fire!" barked the slightly brash mullet bearing police officer.

"Down those steps, get down them steps! You stupid little retarded girl!" evidence that Gene's former boss was still disablist and nasty towards children as he hasn't changed since the Seventies.

Armed Response charge down the stairs and run on to search for ex DCI Ray Carling.

DCI Gene Hunt (through police radio): "Armed Response, stand down. Suspect has left the scene. Repeat, stand down!"

The Millennium Bridge; Alex is holding Molly's hand as they walk from the Thames embankment together.

"Your godfather Evan is going to take you home. I've got a stack of reports and I'm..."

"Evan!" shouted Molly Drake who went to join him.

"It's all right, scrap. What say we get you a cake? A seriously chocolaty one. And then I can pretend I know something about Shakira and you can take the piss out of me."

 _Molly giggles._

 _"_ Molly! We'll blow the candles out together, OK?" called DI Alex Drake from the level above the embankment of the Thames Valley.

 _Gene and Alex get into his car with a sigh, he starts the engine but doesn't drive away immediately._

"Hey, listen to this. Listen to my old Walkman." said DCI Gene Hunt trying to lighten the atmosphere in his most treasured blue 2013 Ford Mondeo Titanium X business edition car. The pocket cassette tape unit was playing 'Vienna' by Ultravox, he had it since 1981 when it was first released.

 **# This means nothing to me. #**

 **# This means nothing to me #**

 **# This means nothing to me. Oh, Vienna. #**

MUSIC: 'Careless Memories' by Duran Duran.

 **# Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out! #**

 **# With a careless memory**  
 **# With a careless memory**  
 **# With a careless memory**  
 **# With a careless memory #**

"My reputation precedes me. I love all the music from the 1980s and early 1990s as I was sassy as Bart Simpson in those days!" driving his pride and joy Mondeo around London to some Eighties and Nineties tunes through his old Sony Walkman unit.

 _ALEX is sitting down at GENE's desk, urgently typing on the computer keyboard. GENE enters._

 _SHAZ offers ALEX a can of Diet cola._

"There's nothing on this hard drive but the time, date and usual programs. Why has the Metropolitan Police CID computer drives corrupted, while we were trying to negotiate with your former boss, who held our PCSO Sharon Grainger hostage?"

DCI Gene Hunt looked at the factory default Microsoft Windows 10 screen "Oh, god! Cybercrime will need to set the network up again, how could my old Guv be capable of this at his advanced years? It's a virus even I can't solve and Microsoft PC's have been around since I was a spotty teenager!" remarked Gene as he's lost all his Excel timesheets, Word crime sheets and Powerpoints due to the virus wiping out the hard drive on senior officers desktop computers.

 _ALEX and CHRIS enter a room packed with shelving containing various Technological Marvels of the 1980s to early 1990s; most of the games_ consoles _belong to Gene from his teens and twenties in that period._

MUSIC: 'Are Friends Electric?' by Tubeway Army.

 **# You know I hate to ask #**

 **# But are friends electric? #**

 **# Only mine's broke down #**

 **# And now I've no-one to love #**

 _GENE appears in the doorway to the right._

Markham the dodgy shady businessman threatens "You know, Mr Hunt, in the City we're always looking for a good investment, like the chap who invented the Walkman; when you were 15 or 16. You have to know when there's a new market ready to explode. That's my job. I see an exciting new product and... KAPOW! It's all about the future. And you know what? I don't think that smart technology future includes you."

MUSIC: 'Ashes to Ashes' by David Bowie.

 **# ...Tom's a junkie**  
 **# Strung out in heavens high**  
 **# Hitting an all-time low #**

 **# Time and again I tell myself #**

 **# I'll stay clean tonight #**

 **# But the little green wheels are following me #**

 **# Oh, no, not again. I'm stuck with a valuable friend #**

 **# I'm happy, hope you're happy too. #**

"Chris, get me your intelligence on ex DCI Ray Carling. Addresses, contacts, past service from NARPO." asked DCI Sam Tyler who is Gene's right hand man, has been since childhood in 1970s Manchester when it comes to ensuring London can sleep easily at night.

"Roger that, Ma'am." said DC Chris Skelton who arrived with a yellow manila folder and print outs from his computer in hand.

"Phone cards?! I remember those from the 1980s and early 90s, not so flash is he?" said a cocky DCI Gene Hunt sat near the Interview Room's cassette recorder with bagged old BT phone cards as evidence.

 _GENE's classic Casio digital watch bleeps._

"Boys and girls, it is precisely 12 of the clock." stood DCI Gene Hunt "By 12.30, I want my old Guv and his suspected elderly accomplices in custody. Mush!"

 _Everyone else's digital and smart watches start bleeping, including, to her surprise, ALEX's._

 _"_ Everyone does. You know, they've sharpened the axe for coppers like Ray Carling; when I was a new broom back in 1982 aged nineteen in Greater Manchester Police. But I'll tell you this much, Bolls, up until the last second, I will be out there making a difference as I dislike bent coppers."

"Gene," she reasoned "of course you will, you're not that scared teenager anymore and your former boss is too dated for the 21st Century. I bet if he was catapulted to the present day being the age he was in 1973; Ray Carling wouldn't last five minutes amongst modern policing techniques like ours."

DI Alex Drake reached the elderly straight haired moustached man "You're under arrest on the suspicion of holding Metropolitan Police's CID hostage, anything you do say may be given in evidence in which you may later rely on in court." she stated to Gene's former boss of 1982-1990.

"Now the tables are turned with moi being DCI, see how you like that?!" bellowed DCI Gene Hunt "The copper bullies like you are now extinct, I've been waiting nearly 20-31 years to get you arrested for historic police corruption and violence against witnesses!" as Gene slapped a pair of handcuffs to ex DCI Ray Carling's wrists and two of Gene's uniformed colleagues put him in a Mercedes Sprinter police arrest van.

"A David Bowie mullet bearing poof and birds shouldn't be coppers!" ranted 83 year old ex DCI Ray Carling as the van doors shut on him on the way to Custody at Metropolitan Police CID in Fenchurch East due to be put inside Custody.


	8. Chapter 8: Finding Gene Hunt's Old Guv

**In chapter eight of BBC Ashes to Ashes + Life on Mars UK crossover fan fiction written episode "DCI Gene Hunt's Metropolitan Police CID Siege Accident", DS Dean Carling loses his father who is Gene's former Guv from the 1980s when he was just a new broom at Greater Manchester Police, summoned for historical police corruption.**

* * *

"Well, I think I've already explained that we're awaiting further testimony before sending the case up to Discipline and Complaints for a charge decision."

"That's hardly my client's problem. Oh, with the very greatest respect, Detective Chief Inspector, put up or shut up."

Gene was shocked to see what became of his former Guv as he had Ray Carling when a new broom in the Eighties from 1982-1987 in Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House police station.

"'Cause we're both coppers. Keys."

SAM hands over GENE's car keys and GENE goes to his Ford Mondeo Titanium X.

"I want you to keep ex DCI Carling under close surveillance." Gene was briefing his team over the beloved gold Apple I-Phone of his "He knows what he's up against, and we know what he's capable of. I wouldn't want any of our witnesses experiencing some of his more... abrupt methods of persuasion."

"What, you're joking, aren't you? Oh, fuck, that's my old man." said DS Dean Carling under his breath in the rear passenger seat on the way to his father's retirement home. "Paying a visit on our erstwhile leader's former guv." replied DCI Sam Tyler when DI Alex Drake asked him a question on her Samsung Galaxy smartphone during their observation at Wentworth House old folks home.

"Well, unless you think this particular... suspect deserves special treatment because he's an ex police officer? We need to rebuild public confidence in the police force. An efficient investigation is one way, public relations is another. Good. Look, I know it's not a very pleasant job, but I'm sure you will do it to the best of your abilities."

XXXXXXX

In spite of your inappropriate behaviour, under the circumstances I am willing to release ex DCI Carling on police bail. On condition—"

"Conditions? Oh, no, no, no!" Merrick the dodgy lawyer laughed at the mullet bearing Detective Chief Inspector "DCI Ray Carling did his National Service between 1949-1952." Gene talked over the alcoholic lawyer's ravings about Dean's father "Served Lancashire Constabulary from 1953-1966 and Greater Manchester Police from 1967-1990."

"I went to see one of his cases. Ray Carling was past his prime then, but, er... if you wanted to see a real old school copper, spitting suspects blood, balls like a bowling alley, he was your man. Let me know what you find, Sam and Alex."

He hands ANNIE a file. "Well, with PR in mind, I have a very special assignment for PCSO Cartwright."

"Road safety talks and a 'People Who Help Us' topic?" questioned the female brunette Police Community Support Officer who is the spitting image of Liz White.

"Well, you know, this case... it could get messy, so... you're probably better off out of it." Sam Tyler gave PCSO Annie Cartwright his support as the second Detective Chief Inspector and Gene's childhood mate.

"Well, thanks for your support, Chief Inspector."

SAM smiles. ANNIE gets up. She narrows her eyes.

GENE is yelling at CHRIS and DEAN in his office.

"You let the prime suspect in a historical police corruption case walk right past you in broad daylight?"

From his office at the computer, SAM can hear every word.

"That kind of incompetence might be acceptable to my old guv DCI Carling, but I can assure you it is not acceptable to me! Now get out of my sight!" bellowed DCI Gene Hunt when DC Chris Skelton and DS Dean Carling leave sheepishly.

He smiles meaningfully, then leaves. SAM looks puzzled at this case involving Gene's now elderly former boss.

"It's a very sticky case for us all. We need to double-check every detail. Tick all of the boxes." said Sam inside Gene's sonic blue Ford Mondeo Titanium X saloon.

"Are there any other movements I should be aware of?" asked DI Alex Drake who appeared from a metallic pink Ford KA Plus car walking down the street.

"Dad dropped a couple of brown trout in the bookie's khazi about an hour ago." replied DS Dean Carling.

"I want every officer in this force out looking for my old guv Carling. I want him found and when you find him, I want to know where he's been!"

People begin to get up, sit at their computers investigating, printing out, photocopying or pick up phones to begin the hunt.

* * *

SAM watches ANNIE's road safety lesson from a window. There is a young girl riding a bike around the playground while a load of kids chorus the lesson. Some of the Greater Manchester Police officers came to talk to Chad's Primary School about what the Police do. They also showed the classes their uniforms and all the special equipment that they have to help them do their jobs.

 **KIDS** _(chanting)_

At the kerb, halt  
Look right, look left  
Look right again  
And if all clear, quick march!

After the primary school's police visit session. It's dark and ANNIE is just packing up when SAM comes in.

Sam's Motorola radio crackles. It's PHYLLIS DOBBS.

"Where are you?"

"Chad's Primary School." replied Sam Tyler "What's 870 finding so far?"

SAM takes out his radio.

"Okay, when you and Annie have packed up, get your marked cars down to DCI Gene Hunt immediately, pronto!"

"Carling deliberately slipped your less-than-effective surveillance. We have two witnesses who say he turned up here earlier and argued with Mr. Wilkes."

XXXXXXX

"You're a good policeman, sir. You and Sam taught me a lot." said DC Chris Skelton who admired his two senior colleagues.

"D'you know, what really sticks in my gullet is that I put a stop to corrupt police officers like him, all of it, years ago in the 80s as a new kid."

"So Carling blackmailed you to get him off the historical GBH charges?"

GENE nods.

The morning. SAM is eating a yoghurt. GENE sits back in his chair and belches loudly. SAM stares at him talking on his beloved Apple I-Phone unit, then drops his spoon.

"It's, er... it's that training exercise for the PCSO's on school visits." replied DCI Gene Hunt over his gold Apple I-Phone "Okay Frank, I'm still tracking my former Guv down."

GENE's Ford Mondeo Titanium X arrives in a narrow alley, pulls up and then reverses until it's level with where its driver wants it to be.

"Well, strangely enough, your now elderly former Guv didn't leave a message."

GENE sits down on the boot of his car.

"You know, I might just have a theory. By the Manchester police museum, he'd come out of his corner like an Alsatian with a red-hot poker rammed up his arse. Floored the other fellow with a single punch."

"I'll make a detective yet out of you."

They both get in the car.


	9. Chapter 9: Back Home Cold Cases

**Chapter nine in Life on Mars UK + Ashes to Ashes crossover of "DCI Gene Hunt's Metropolitan Police Siege Accident" has Gene and Sam going back to the street they grew up in during the Seventies to solve some unfinished cases inherited from the Greater Manchester Police CID back then, using today's technology advances; starting with the Charles Bronson case.**

* * *

"I was four in 1973."

"So what? I was four in 1967. Look at me now, haven't I aged well," Gene barks

The traffic is full of ugly hunks of metal. Sam's not the only one with no taste. He sees a Ford Cortina Mk3 he recognises, once, but it's a rust bucket, nothing like his glorious bronze beast aged 17 in 1980. He's bored that Sam's the one driving for a change. He hates that he's here to find his old Guv. He hates that he was halfway to slipping Sam one before they were called away. He puts his hand on Sam's thigh, but Sam pushes it off, glaring at him in warning.

"What do you want us to do then?" Gene asks.

"Well, Sam has to lead the investigation, naturally." Maya stares at Gene, flummoxed.

"I always forget he's DCI. Do you know, I've known him since he were just Detective Inspector? Seems like only six hours ago."

"I…" Maya starts. She pauses and brief emotion sweeps across her face; confusion, disappointment. "How come I've heard of you before, DCI Hunt?"

"I'm his secret weapon. Brings me out when he needs the big guns, ain't that right, Sammy-boy?"

"Yeah, since he's been in the police business five years before me."

XXXXXXX

The door opens, an attractive brunette stands looking at them in curiosity. She looks a little like the bird down at Gene's local chippy and he stares appreciatively at her tits. Sam may be his right-hand man, but that hasn't stopped DCI Gene Hunt from reaching for a nice bit of skirt.

"Sorry, Ms Quinton, can we go inside so that I can talk to you about this in an appropriate manner?" Gene looks ready to shoot Dean Carling, vein in his forehead throbbing a waltz.

Shania's living room is strangely familiar in russets and autumnal colours less suited to the 21st Century and more to their childhood of 70s Manchester.

"He was an arsehole, my brother," Shania says as she sets the cups down. "Complete fuckwit. Owed me thousands and showed no signs of ever giving it back. I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, but he really was a giant dick. After the parents died, he just got worse."

Gene is shocked by her language. Sam thought he was crude occasionally, but she'd make millions on the oil market.

Sam takes a sip of tea. "You weren't close, I take it?"

"Not even when we were kids." Shania tips her head back and reminisces. "He used to steal my toys."

"He was murdered," Gene says forthrightly. "So far, you're sounding like a suspect. Can you tell us where you were between between 2 am and 4 am this morning?"

"Sleeping. In my bed. In this house. If I'd've killed him, I'd be dancing on his broken bones and would willingly give myself up, just for the glory. But I didn't. Wish I had. Never had the guts."

"What did he do for a living?"

"Second hand electronics dealer or something."

Sam calls Maya to check that the names given to them by Shania are ones they already have addresses for, and they are, for the most part, apart from one that sends them to an estate. A name that wasn't on either of their lists – so, a new acquaintance, or the lead suspect?

What once was gleaming concrete is now cracked and muddied. Gene hadn't liked these atrocities when they were newly built, even as a child and sure looked worse than they did then.

Still, he knows why it would be ringing, so he readies himself for Davies, hiding behind the door. After a few moments, a figure blocks the light from the doorway and sails into the room. Rory Davies is tall, taller than a man has any right to be, and he leans on a tilt. Gene sets his shoulders and says his name, clear as day. Davies spins round and looks at Gene in combined horror and anger.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna ask you a couple of questions about Marc Quinton, Rory."

"Who?"

"You know who I mean." Gene advances, not letting a little thing like five inches put him off.

"Who are you that's asking?"

"DCI Hunt."

Davies' cheeks puff out and he bares his teeth. "I'm not talking to a pig."

"Oh, you will." Gene feels a surge rush through him – power and revulsion. "Tell me everything you can about Marc Quinton and that'll be that. Don't tell me, and I'll have your head bent so far back, you'll spend the rest of your life counting flies on the ceiling."

Davies rolls his eyes. "Tough man, eh? Been watching one too many gangster flicks?"

Gene pretends to laugh, balls his fingers into a pretend fist. Davies bends over and Gene leans down and yells in his ear, "I want some information and I want it now."

"We'll have to say something! We could get sued for letting your old Guv get hold of the old files of cases he failed to solve. Do you not get that? None of our charges against Davies will stick – even if he's guilty as sin."

Gene can imagine DC Maya Roy's brown eyes glittering with anger.

"When we were together, you wrote entire odes to the extinction of police brutality, and now you're wandering around trying to find our Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt's old Guv who was Harry Callahan in his policing days!"

"Ray Carling compromised the investigation, Sam and Gene."

This time Gene doesn't know who it is, so he refuses to answer. He's having too much fun watching some show about cars, Top _Gear_ , or some such. One of the hosts is greatly amusing and Gene snorts tea through his nose at his comments. When Ruth Tyler appears on the Apple I-Phone unit, Gene answers it.

Sam rolls his eyes and starts with the plates for their Chinese takeaway. "Anything interesting happen whilst I was gone?"

"Your mother rang."

Sam stops dead at that. "She… she did?"

"Yeah, wants to know if we're gonna come to tea Sunday. I said yes, not knowing if we'd still be here or not. Seemed polite."

"Not as bad as others. I used to stand by and watch my mother get beaten to a pulp. Never did a thing about it. When I finally did throw a punch of my own into the old man's gut, it wasn't for her, it was for me."

"That was different."

"Of course it was different. Different time, different circumstance, different people. It's always gonna be different, you pillock."

"You think I'm a complete baby, don't you? Oh look, there's Tyler, crying over his mummy."

Gene damn near laughs at that. "Does it really matter what I think?"

Sam draws away and holds his gaze.

"You're a child sometimes, my dearest Samuel," Gene says. "But you're not a baby. It's almost consoling that you've the heart."

* * *

He sees Maya out of the corner of his eye. She stands, seemingly ill at ease, one foot before the other, her elbows sticking out as her hands rest on her hips. She makes a darting movement forward, but stays stationary.

"How is he?"

"Oh, fine. He was dancing a jig three minutes ago," Gene replies automatically.

"What happened?"

"Car crash."

"I know it was a car crash. How?" Maya sounds strained, like she's been crying.

"Well, sweetheart, what happens is one car gets hit by another car and before you know it, you're arse over tit. But I'm sure you've been in that situation before."

"Cut the crap and explain it to me."

Gene hunches his shoulders and brings his head up to look directly at Maya. "We were going after Bruce Charles. We went to his place, Sam flashed his badge, Charles went rushing off and we followed."

"You were together?"

"Yeah, see, thing is, Sam doesn't much like to leave me on my lonesome, doesn't think I'm tough enough to nut it out."

"That's not what he said yesterday. Seems to think you're God's gift to the earth. Wouldn't shut up about you." Maya pauses. Gene expects a torrent of abuse, but gets a faint head-tilt instead. "You're not the kind of bloke I'd expect to be… you know."

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect it either."

"He's always been really secretive. I've never understood why."

"You and me both, glitter teeth."

Maya purses her lips. "Why do you do that? My name's Maya, you know that."

Gene nods at Sam. "I call him Gladys. Majorie. Dorothy. Any girl's name I can think of. Sammy-boy, Deputy Dog, Sherlock, Brainiac…"

"Loving relationship, then."

Gene doesn't know why he isn't shielding himself. There doesn't seem much point. Maya has good instincts, he can see it in her approach. She'd already sussed them out.

"I wanna solve this," Gene says, more bite in his tone than he intends.

"You're not going to stay by Sam's side?"

Gene wavers. He crosses his arms and grunts, low in his throat. "Half an hour. If he's not bright-eyed in half an hour, take me with you to kick in some doors using the giant red enforcer tool."

"I'm not doing any door-breaking."

"No, that's my job."

The plastic cup makes a cracking sound as Gene's hand involuntarily clutches it. It contained tea, but that got slurped up an hour before.

"Could you keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep," Sam mumbles.

Gene leans forward, resting his weight on his toes. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes flicker open and he stares at Gene blearily. "Have we been playing rough and tumble again?"

"No. Motor accident."

"Oh. Great. Can't have too many of those in your lifetime. Shit."

"So you know who I am?"

Sam quirks an eyebrow. "Intimately acquainted. And I do mean that."

Gene can't express the relief and gratitude he feels at this. He's incoherent with it. He sits and watches Sam for a while, cataloguing his features and imagining kissing every square inch. He thinks about batting Sam on the arm, but decides against it. He's made of stiff stuff, Tyler.

"Well, now that you're awake and sentient, I'm off."

"Off? Off where?"

"Off with your exciting ex, to see if I can crush some nuts. Those belonging to Bruce Charles if I'm really lucky."

* * *

"So how did you two meet?"

"Look, I know you're a copper. You know I'm a copper. We don't have to interrogate one another."

"I'm not. I'm just curious."

Maya drives on the edge of reckless, winding the car around with speed and daring. She takes corners liberally and, for a while, Gene thinks a sadist might have a handle on his fate and he'll be sailing into a lamp-post.

"He came into my department and demanded my attention," Gene says eventually, carefully avoiding saying anything that doesn't sound like the truth.

"That sounds like Sam. And was it love at first sight?"

"You're a riot, you are, bouncy bra."

Maya stops her teasing, pulls into the station car park, and shuts off the engine. They clatter up the steps, an aeroplane soaring overhead muffling the voices of those nearby.

"Right, so we have a couple of informants who can tell us where Charles is staying," Maya says as they push through the front door. "Now, his relation to Quinton is this - he worked as Quinton's delivery boy. Would package up and send paintings to his various clients, usually by personal courier."

Gene taps his chin, leaning by the lift and looking down at Maya thoughtfully. "His sister said he didn't have any clients."

"Either she didn't know about them, or she was lying, because he was making a pretty penny. There's insubstantial, but convincing evidence that whatever was going on at that gallery was dodgy."

"I'm shocked and in awe."

Maya presses the button to go up. "Do you take anything seriously?"

"Try not to, it's bad for my digestion."

"Anyway, there's been suggestions of copies being bandied about."

"Of famous artworks?"

"Not too famous - no Van Gogh or Rembrandt. But yeah." Maya walks into the clean, sterile CID, a line in her forehead marring her otherwise attractive face. "The only reason I'm doing this is because I think you wanna do the best by Sam. And I get that.

"But you can't go around using the enforcer unless necessary, okay? No actual kicking in doors. This is real life. This isn't some vigilante flick, or Western or something. Appeals of self defence only get you so far."

"Self defence? Is that what Sammy-boy told you Rory Davies was?"

"Why? Would you tell me it was something else?"

Gene's lips twitch and he coughs to conceal his desperate urge to laugh. "No. I wouldn't tell you a thing."

Maya tenses her jaw. "This is seeming more and more like a bad idea."

"That's what Sam said."

"Yeah, well, he's not always wrong."

"He's not always right."

They leave it at that. Maya collects intel about what's been happening since she's been gone and announces to anyone who's listening that she and DCI Hunt are going on an expedition. Some tapping halts and a couple of heads look up, but there's not an overwhelming gush of interest and Gene concludes that he has ceased to be flavour of the week.

"You're not gonna get them helping?"

Maya shakes her head. "They're all working on other projects. As of yesterday evening there's been two other murders and a robbery. It's go, go, go."

"My team would be bending over, waiting for the spank."

"Why don't you call them, then, bring them in?" Maya asks, holding up her mobile.

Gene feigns nonchalance. "They're busy with their own cases." He looks at the metal boxes arranged on each desk and points to the closest. "How important would you say these are to the job?"

"Vital. But ever since we got upgraded, our database has trouble loading. I swear, the more patches they issue, the more difficult it becomes. What's your database like?"

"Sam is our database," Gene says.

"Really?"

It registers that this must sound odd, considering they're supposed to be working in different places entirely.

"He's like our database; stubborn, mouthy, particular, needs everything just so before it'll work."

Maya gives an amused smirk and signals that they're leaving.

Bruce Charles has a face like squashed Alsatian shit, ugly as sin. Gene feels he should have noticed that before, but he was too caught up in chasing after the git to give it much thought. Of course, Charles is predictable like _Corrie_ and attempts to escape again, wedging a lounge room between him and the two cops hell-bent on getting their own way.

Gene has the opportunity to kick in a door, but he waits for Maya to wave her hand in consent before he completes the action. It's courtesy more than anything, and the relish that he feels when his foot crashes against the wood is scotch in his blood.

"Charles, you scum, you'll be eating from a tube if you don't come quietly."

Maya opens her eyes wide. "Have you spent every weekend of the last twenty years watching _The Sweeney_ , or what?"

Gene swivels his head to glare at Maya quizzically. "The whatee?" He turns around, directing his harsh tones to the corner. He's seen blue denim peeking out from behind an armchair. "Hands where we can see them, Charles."

Charles moves, reluctantly, heels dragging against the carpet. Gene seizes him by the shoulders. Maya changes personality; a chameleon. She's suddenly hard, and brutal, and scary even to Gene, who's used to broads and fishwives.

"Bruce, you've been a bad boy, wanna tell us what you know?"

"I didn't kill him. Marc."

"Then who did you kill?" Gene asks, shark-like teeth and piercing green eyes.

"No one. Haven't killed nowt."

Maya interjects. "But you know who did? Kill Quinton?"

"Not exactly. I could tell you a motive."

Maya's cold and in charge. "I could make up any manner of motives. Love, lust, greed, revenge. I don't want a motive. I want the reason."

Gene's impressed. Sam always does know how to pick them.

"Marc was all about selling dodgy paintings, yeah?"

"We've heard that before."

"There was a massive scandal with one of the suppliers. Warnings, shattered windows. Marc got hit, badly, bashed up by a couple of thugs. His sister, Shania? Took great pleasure in it all."

Gene bites his lip, narrowing his eyes at Charles. "We've spoken with Shania Quinton. She made her happiness bright and shiny, but she didn't kill him."

"You're positive?" Maya asks, shifting her attention from Charles to Gene.

"As sure as Liz Frazer's tits are gorgeous."

Maya's mouth flattens and she gives a near-shudder. "You're a colourful man, Gene Hunt."

"And you're a colourful bird."

Maya goes rigid for a second, cocks her head, and then starts prodding Charles towards her Audi. "You're going to help our investigation and you're not going to complain, because if you don't give us something useful, we'll lock you up for obstruction."

They go to the station with quiet professionalism, Charles staying silent in the back.

Interrogation involves a tape recorder and some special glass. Gene supposes he shouldn't be overwhelmingly surprised. He does, however, miss Sam at this moment, and that makes him feel nice and pitiable, because it's only been two hours since he was keeping a vigil by his bedside. Still, he knows Sam in this environment. He's reliable, in his own way. And he wants answers, he burns for them. Why did Marc Quinton die? Who killed him? It's not just his quest for justice, in fact, probably less than ten percent is his quest for justice, because these streets are not his streets, despite the names. It's wanting to make sense of it all. Whether or not any sense will be made is neither here nor there.

"Bruce, you're not a regular witness. We usually offer those witnesses tea and biscuits, but you lucked out when you commenced a dangerous car chase that wounded one of our own."

"I what?" Charles asks, shock evident in every convulsion. Gene's nails cut into his palm as he stems the compulsion to smash him one. "Go to the gallery."

"I've been to the gallery," Maya says, exasperated.

"Go again. Shania's boyfriend Pete, butcher extraordinaire, has taken over. I mean, there's not much more I can tell you. That's all I know."

"Tell me about the warnings again."

The gallery's shut. No one's at Shania's. They wait for hours, before setting surveillance up and calling it a night. Gene wants to go to the hospital, but Maya softly reminds him visiting hours are over. He thinks he's going to collapse before he takes a step within the door of Sam's flat. Maya's given him her spare key, driven off. He'd been tempted to offer her a drink, but she'd staunched his proposition before he'd made it, talking about being glad she was finally going to be spending the evening with her fiancée.

It's him and four cream walls. Not what he'd call the most exciting or appetising of evenings. He switches the tv on, but some disturbingly pink show's playing, with a bunch of blokes talking about interior design. He tries to turn on the laptop, but there's a flashing light over an image of a battery that Gene supposes indicates that it's flat. Typical.

Gene sees his future spread out before him and it does not look promising.

There's a rattling and scraping sound from the front, so Gene rises from the sofa, drawing himself to his full height - no mean feat with the weight of exhaustion.

The door opens and Sam's standing there in an oversized grey shirt and baggy jeans, his arm in a cast and sling, his head still looking a mess, albeit sewn back together, and a scowl that could rival any child after a sherbet fountain.

"What're you doing here?" Gene asks, faking irritation and secretly overjoyed.

"You left me, alone," Sam says angrily, twisting his left hand in his loose t-shirt and coming across the threshold.

"You did the same to me, day before."

"I left you in a nice flat. With television. And easy-to-access porn. You left me in a hospital. I fucking hate hospitals."

Sam walks closer to the middle of the room, looking about himself with squirrel-like tics.

Gene rolls his eyes. "First of all, you're obsessed with porn. Second, stop being a melodramatic wimp."

"You're a fucking bastard."

"So many different ways to say 'I love you', yet Tyler chooses the one that involves grappling," Gene says to the air.

Sam goes still, the vein on his forehead popping once more, this time throbbing a lively flamenco. He ducks his head and swallows, his frown making him appear ten years older. He bounces on the balls of his feet, tense and restrained.

Gene lowers in pitch, insistent and forceful. "I was trying to get us Charles Bronson, the guy my old Guv failed to catch back in 1973 when we were just four and ten at the time."

"But what you've failed to notice, Gene, is that I've never once seen your old boss," Sam sucks in a breath and his eyes are hollow when he stares back at Gene; he's tucked away every emotion. "I could pick up my life, here, easily. You saw me do it. It's routine. It's familiar."

Gene doesn't recognise his voice, deep and husky, as he interrupts. "What do you mean, 'if'?"

Sam continues, pretending he doesn't hear. "-It'd be for you."

"And what is here for you? Because, forgive me, Sam, if I'm missing something remarkable, but you're miserable solving this Charles Bronson case. I've not seen you so - the only time I've ever seen you look this demoralised was when we fished Joni out of the canal. What about Annie? What about Chris?"

"Wouldn't have to, would I?" Sam stares blankly at the wall. "It's not about what I want. It's about what's right."

"Hate to break it to you after 37 years of life on earth, but no such thing exists," Gene yells, finally letting the anger creeping up to take hold. "The laws of time and space are anything but right. They're the other side of wrong. If this is about your mother, I think you need a little chat with a counsellor."

Sam half-shrugs, dejectedly. "This isn't about my mother."

"What is it, then? Is this about you being a scared little pussycat? Can you not take all Guv all the time?"


	10. Chapter 10: Gene and Sam's Childhood

**Chapter ten takes place at Ruth Tyler's house as Sam and Gene compare their childhood memories of the 1970s and 1980s, they speak to a former member of Greater Manchester Police CID for information.**

* * *

Sam remembers this sofa; the spring that never fails to dig into the flesh at the top of his thigh. The chequered throw that covers wilting pink flowers and Edwardian curves. Sitting on this sofa, after all this time - it's strange. The same cognitive dissonance that came with having to learn to walk again. He never stopped walking. He's used to browns and oranges, the smell of leather and stale cigarettes. This room is too clean and orderly, but it's familiar, like looking through the bottom of a bottle and seeing the world all warped and smeared. That dark shape in the corner is a fern, you've touched that fern, you bought that fern, but when you look at it through moulded glass - it could be anything.

It's the details he never expected to cut close to the bone. His mother's perfume. The coffee-ring on the table. They're all right and still wrong. Sam shifts uncomfortably and tugs on the cuff of his jacket, because it itches in ways the other never did.

"Do you still have those boxes in the cupboard under the stairs?" he asks his mum when she settles next to him and pours the tea.

Ruth shrugs one shoulder. "Why wouldn't I? What did you want them for?"

"I wanted - to look." To savour. To sense. To find anything that might make him feel better.

"Did you want my help? Was there something specific?"

"No, I'll be okay. Can I do it now?"

Ruth stares uncomfortably closely. Sam drags a finger around the rim of his cup. He remembers this tea set. It was a forty-fifth birthday present.

"They're covered in dust."

"I like dust. It gives a sense of time and place."

Ruth frowns. Sam ignores it. He stands, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the sofa. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and glances towards the sliver of cupboard he can see through the doorframe. Takes a hesitant step and then strides towards his goal.

He drags the boxes into the kitchen and settles on the floor with them. They're heavy and his arms are still weaker than they once were, so he doesn't even bother trying to lift them onto the table. He hears Ruth stepping out of the lounge and has a horrified moment where he thinks she's going to come and join him, pauses waiting, but she calls that she's going to go buy some more milk, asking if he wants anything. He says no, but he doesn't mean it; he just doesn't want anything she can offer.

The first box he opens brings back memories of going down to the record shop with Gene and listening to as many EPs as he could before the owner would tell him to sod off, before he finally saved enough money from mowing next door's garden to actually buy a 7" single to take home and play. Gary Numan, thick eyeliner and suit; incongruous like he feels now. An old record at the time of purchase, but only by a few years. He almost had enough for another, but couldn't decide between Dylan and the Stones. Later, he'd wished he'd gone for Bowie, but hindsight was always clearer.

There's his school jumper; grey with a hole near the collar. It's tiny, thin and worn. It had to last four years and he got into scrapes and scraps more than any other kid his size, he'd wager. Never could keep his mouth shut even then. He's not sure why it's in here. He'd have chucked it years ago. Beneath his jumper there are copies of school photos. The others are proudly displayed around the house, but his mum always insisted he get four, to give to his Aunties, and somehow they were always left with one to spare. He looks at the bowl cut, the side parting, the Elvis impersonation and the attempt at a mullet. Every year a new style. And that's him, apparently. Doesn't seem like it. He could be looking at any serious child, guarded eyes and straight line where a smile should be.

This is the wrong box. This is a box for Gene's years in secondary school; working hard, fighting harder, being confused sexually and emotionally, and just confused in general. These are the years he became obsessed with _The Professionals_ and _Minder_ and tried to stop thinking about his Dad, proving _he_ was the man of the household. These are the years he lost his virginity in the back of a Ford Granada to a girl called Jenny because he wasn't brave enough to make a move on her brother Brian, and loved it all the same, cherishing the St Christopher's Medal she gave Gene, wearing it still.

Sam brushes his fingers lightly over the objects and places them carefully back. He works at the flaps of the other box, but it's sealed with duct tape and he needs a stanley knife to attain access to its contents. He slices the pad of his index finger open and sucks at the wound out of instinct, but doesn't feel the sharp sting he'd expected.

Digging through, he sees that this is what he was searching for. The right decade, the items that evoke sense memory more recent than nostalgia should allow. The first thing to arrest his attention is a small metal box his Uncle Martin gave him after he married Auntie Heather. He used to keep his football cards in it. Sam opens the box reflexively, and almost smiles when Bobby Charlton's determined face stares up at him. He closes the lid with a snap and continues dragging things out of the box, placing them on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. Shifting a battered looking address book, he sees a dog-eared photograph of him wearing a policeman's hat. He gazes at it, uncertain. He took it, this photo. It was his. In his flat. It shouldn't be here, lying underneath a book in a box his mother has kept for years. He picks it up, smoothing his index finger over his face, and flips the photo over. Written in the corner are a few scrawled words. He _knows_ this writing. It's not his mother's, and it's not his.

 _I thought you'd go looking. Keep at it._

"I never understood that, why he wrote those words," Ruth says. Sam starts. He hadn't heard the door open, hadn't sensed she was there. He looks up at her leaning against the doorjamb, tucking a strand of grey hair behind an ear.

"Who?"

Ruth's eyes cloud and she gives him her 'never bother' smile. "I expect you're feeling tired and hungry?"

Sam struggles to stand, feeling ferocious in his curiosity, his voice hard-edged and gravelled. "Who, Mum?"

"There was a police officer I knew once. Well, two of them, really. But this one, the one who wrote that line. He was a DCI - Hunt. Nasty bloke, like so many of them were back then. They thought they ruled the world and could treat people like muck."

Sam swallows. "Gene isn't like that." He gives a rueful huff of breath. "Never, I known him since we were kids."

Ruth doesn't appear to hear him, Sam can't tell if that's deliberate. "The other officer, he'd taken this picture, apparently, though I can't see why. He always was so strange."

"Did he remind you of anyone?"

"Hunt? He's your lovely mate, but his father was a right nasty piece of work as a copper back then."

Sam stops himself from shouting and manages a harsh whisper instead. "Tyler."

Ruth looks away and sounds distant and light. "Not at the time, no."

 _Keep at it_ , the photograph says. Sam tries, begs his mother for answers, but she's not forthcoming. She gets wild-eyed and scared, and suggests calling Doctor Caulfield, which results in Sam asking no more questions and pretending he's simply feeling unwell. Psychiatry has no place in his 'support network'. He'll participate in various evaluations because he's told to, but that's in a series of recordings. No need to look into kind eyes and placating gestures, or experts who talk about shock. Sam repacks the boxes and dumps them back in the cupboard, tucking the photograph into his pocket. He calls a taxi and kisses Ruth on the cheek when it arrives with the blare of a horn.

Sam stares at glass buildings during the trip to the mill. These are the products of rejuvenation, millions of pounds poured into making Manchester brighter. But it's lost character somewhere along the way; so it may be better looking, perhaps, but it's not the place Sam thinks of as home. He hadn't noticed, before. The change, though sudden in some respects, had been slow in others, and when things progress around you, it's hard to remember where they start.

The bricks are cool against Sam's palms and cheek. The daily ritual. He breathes in and imagines he can feel the industry alive again. The kids who live in one of the flats around the corner have taken to shouting obscenities at him - lie in wait just for the purpose, but Sam doesn't care, because he needs this. He climbs the stairs to his flat, fiddling with the key, stripping out of his suit, placing the photograph face down on his glass-topped table. He showers to erase a day of meetings and discussion; some more useful than others. He uses soap, but never gets clean.

When he's sitting with a towel around his shoulders and a bottle of scotch by his hand, he studies Gene's father's writing once more. It's neater than his own, not as masculine as he would have thought. The letters curl and loop together, as if it's one continuous line. And he wonders; what did Gene's father hope to achieve writing him this message? How did Gene's old man know to do so? What happened after the shots were fired?

Sam has nightmares, mostly because he refuses to take his sleeping pills. He sees the betrayal in his right hand man Gene's eyes, hears Annie's shouting, watches time and again as Chris and Dean fall at a case in London. And if they could see what had become of their 1970s counterparts, he couldn't have this note.

Sam drinks until he's too sick to swallow, insistent pounding behind his eyes, his ears ringing.

It's only because of Maya that Sam still has a job, but he never sees her anymore. She moved on. She had to, he knows this. When he called her to say thanks for her recommendation, Maya sounded strangled and tense. She'd been crying, but didn't want him to know. He could say the same, but for different reasons. Sam accepted Maya leaving him months before, so he isn't bitter, but he misses her. She would listen to him without judgement; yet he can't leave her with this burden, so he doesn't try to contact Maya more than he has to through official channels.

He doesn't pine for her in the way he expected to. He doesn't long for her touch, or the heat of her body against his in the morning. He doesn't daydream about her long eyelashes and wicked smile. It surprises him, at first. He thinks he should want to be with her on a visceral level, that he should crave sensation. He does, but not with Maya. The conversations he replays in his mind are more grating and clipped. They're deep, in more ways than one; things that were frequently said, some that never were. Sometimes, he touches a thumb to his jaw and remembers a punch with fondness. Other times he buys two bacon butties, setting one on a plate in front of him as he eats the other with relish. The kids around the corner might be right when they call him 'fucking whacked in the head', but everyone has their little vices.

It's Maya who helps Sam in his quest to 'keep looking'. She requests files he's not allowed to ask for now that he's been relegated to a sit and listen position, and has them delivered to his desk in boxes plastered with a yellow post-it bearing the words 'good luck'. Sam suspects Maya doesn't want to know what she's sending the well wishes for. He trawls through papers and folders after work for hours, finally alighting upon reports that detail Leslie Johns shooting Gene's team down. There is no mention of a Sam Tyler, or anyone of his description in the 1970s Greater Manchester Police archive. No M.A.R.S. No conspiracy. There is a grainy photograph of Gene, Annie, Chris, Sam and Dean taken in the late 1990s; Gene bullet torn and resting on a crutch, glaring into the camera with a fierce set of his jaw and flint eyes, everyone else looking vaguely shocked and in various states of pain. They were saved, according to the report, through the foresight of other officers from A-Division. They were saved.

After so many nightmares of death and destruction, his chest tightens with relief at this, the simple acknowledgement that not only did they exist, but likely continue to do so.

Sam wipes away the tears that fall thick and fast down his cheeks, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose and shuddering out breath. Tears of joy, or tears of sorrow and regret, or a bit of both, intermingling. He takes his time and doesn't continue rifling for more until the sun is a pale orange in the sky and his back hurts from constantly leaning forward. Other people he's forced to work on policy-making with will be here soon, and he can't be seen leaving with entire boxes of classified information, so Sam works methodically, but finds nothing further. He places his one piece of evidence in his inner jacket pocket, close to his heart.

It's only after he's been to the vending machine to get a coffee that Sam thinks to take the photo out and flip it over. There, along the top, in that same, flowing style, are three words that make him abruptly stop in his tracks.

 _Hunt for me._

He'd grimace at the pun if his pulse wasn't racing. There will be more favours to cash in, but he can't not know. Whatever instinct lead him on this path, he has to see it to its end, even if he doesn't like the results. Even if Gene has sent him on this chase only so that he can exact dark and brutal revenge. But there would be no communication if this were the case. Gene must know something he doesn't.

Sam calls in sick from the downstairs toilets. Evans, Glen's replacement, says he thought he saw him in the corridor. Sam jokes that it must have been a phantom. The smile in his voice doesn't reach his eyes. That day, he goes home and tries his own independent search, but as he'd predicted, 'Stephen Hunt' comes up with DNA websites and he's blocked from any useful databases. He tries everyone he can think of in CID to little avail, but succeeds with an article about Phyllis.

 _ **Phyllis Dobbs, 77, seen collecting the Intergenerational Darts Trophy on behalf of the team from the Alexandra Lodge Care Centre**_ _  
A retired officer of the Greater Manchester Police, Dobbs is said to be formidable opposition._

"That sounds about right," Sam mutters to himself. He's been doing that a lot lately. Phyllis of the photograph looks like someone he wouldn't want to cross; the sort of grandmother that would feed you deliberately disgusting sour sweets and expect you to fall over in thanks. Once again, Sam finds this fitting. He finishes reading the article and jots down the address for the centre. It's an expensive looking building on Wilbraham Road. He'd never really thought about where Phyllis would want to spend her time outside of work, having half-formed notions she lived in the station behind the front desk.

He attempts sleep before the journey. He looks like shit and thinks he should try to look presentable. But he doesn't manage anything resembling relaxation, his muscles and nerves wound tight.

Another taxi, because he still can't bring himself to drive, and Sam is gazing up at red brick and wondering how fast he could run away. Instead he inquires at the front desk as to where Phyllis might be; stating he's an old family friend. It's a version of the truth, he supposes, though not an exact one.

"He said you'd come. I never believed him," Phyllis says without preamble. She's sitting by the window, a crossword open on her lap.

"Hi Phyllis." Sam sits opposite Phyllis, perching on the end of her bed. She tuts at him crinkling the quilt.

"Well, until one day I saw you on the telly banging on about a drugs bust you'd been involved in," she continues. "I figured he'd either been telling the truth, or Annie hadn't told me everything I needed to know about her son."

"Could be both, for all we know. Phyllis, could you tell me where Gene is now?"

"I had him hassling me about the old days, he's your boss ain't he?"

 _Live the life you want and find the answers you're searching for. Never stop being that pain in the arse that gets results, because the world's better when you're being a git who's fighting for a cause he believes in. Keep doing what you think is right, Sam. You can make a difference. You already have._

Gene texted Sam, this next message "Wanted to be coppers since we were kids in the 70s."

Ruth smiles; a soft, sad smile. "Then you've got nothing to worry about, 'cause you both always keep your promises."

He and Gene leaves Ruth's terraced house with letters and the photographs. The evidence, so to speak. It's the least he can do.


	11. Chapter 11: It's About to be Writ Again

The car swerved to a halt with a thunderous bang and three plastic rubbish bins met their fate. Gene gave them a cursory glance as he stepped out of the Ford S-MAX. A weird name for a car, and curvy looking n'all, but it got the job done. Now, he had to do the same thing. Only, it was difficult, knew everything when really he knew nowt about 1973. Acronyms and procedures and that much paperwork, he thought he was happy go lucky, and if that had to happen, he'd always really hoped he'd do it in the conventional way.

2013\. Jesus. If anyone'd said to him he'd get involved in a crash and wind up confusing his childhood 40 years later, he'd have them on possession. But here he was. At first he'd thought it was all in his head, that he was having some bizarre dream, possibly fuelled by too much brew, but it'd been five weeks now and he woke up every morning, time seemed to work normally, he could touch, see, smell, taste and hear and there were so many details. His instinct was telling him it was real and his instinct was rarely mistaken.

Still, real as it might be, it was still _wrong_. He did belong here. He missed home in 2013. Looking at this monstrosity of a brick building, with bronze lettering proclaiming 'Warren & Crane', gave him a serious urge to kick in heads.

"You alright, Gene?"

Gene swivelled to look at the interrogator, who just so happened to be his boss in the police station they both work in. DCI Tyler, with a look, he could probably taste the steel. He was also a bit of alright. Lean, wiry, easy on the eyes. And he had his moments. He could be downright friendly when he wanted to be. He also had the benefit of not being all that worried whenever Gene thought he was cracking apart, like, for instance, the first time they met, because he just thought Gene was following the long line of department lackeys who liked to make a mockery of him.

"Brighter than a parakeet's arse."

Tyler gave a disgusted wrinkle of his nose, an expression Gene had got well used to. "You lead the way, Inspector."

God, he hated that. He hadn't been a DI for sixteen years since 1997, and now he had to answer to his childhood friend who thought he knew everything. And try as he might, when it was in view, Gene couldn't stop looking at his right hand man, which was one of the reasons he didn't want to go first.

One of the weirder, and in some ways gratifying things about this place was that it seemed like it was alright to fancy the pants off other blokes, or if you were a bird, other birds. There'd been male on male kissing in _Doctor Who_ , for Christ's sakes. Gene couldn't say he'd never considered that the best thing for Delgado and Pertwee was a good snog, but actually seeing it on the screen was another matter.

It may have been oddly gratifying, but it made him more than slightly edgy, especially since he was now within the hallowed walls of a 'gay club'. There was black tiling and rainbow paintwork and these alone were enough to make him think it was really his place, even if he did feel some form of affinity with those who spent time here.

At least forty blokes were lined up against the wall, sitting on makeshift benches and looking glum. Some of them were extravagant, dressed up to the nines, hair coiffed. Others just looked like ordinary men out for a sozzle. One was dressed much the same way as the stab victim lying in a pool of his own blood, twenty feet from the exit.

Forensics were already wandering around with equipment that looked space age and Tyler started conferring with the head pathologist, all downturned mouth and serious eyes.

"Looks like our victim was stabbed," Tyler said to Gene after a couple of minutes.

"So?"

"So, probably best to subtly steer the questions in that direction, and when I say subtly, I don't mean like last time, when you came out and asked Bethany Warrington if she was letting her cousin give her one from behind."

"Got a result, didn't I?"

"You were on national telly. It caused a minor scandal."

Gene rolled his eyes. Scandals were severely overrated in this day and age of fifteen second fame and anyone-could-be-a-celebrity. "You should be thankful it wasn't a major scandal."

"Just - use some tact, yeah?"

Gene knew that in some twisted way, Tyler was looking out for him. According to Murphy and Spencer, he'd made enough mistakes in this Greater Manchester Police Stopford House station since 1982 to warrant early retirement, but Tyler kept leaping to his defence. As to why was anyone's guess.

He approached the man Tyler had indicated he should interview first; a tall, well built bloke who looked as out of place amongst the glitter as Gene felt strange.

"Hey."

The man looked up at him. "Hello."

"I'm DCI Gene Hunt, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

There was a raise an eyebrow and then, "Jeremy Henry. Be my guest."

He was a South Londoner, baritone, sounded three quarters of the way to despondent. Gene tried to decide why before the questioning began. Was it a friend who'd died? A lover? He didn't seem put out enough for it to be a lover, but Gene had seen stranger things. He might be in shock.

"Do you come to Warren & Crane often?"

"I manage the business for Mr Crane, so yes, I'm here almost every night. Quite a lot of time during the day too."

"Right. Did you know the victim?"

"He was one of the regulars. I think his name was Jimmy."

Gene went through the regular enquiries, checking times and alibis, jotting down notes for future purposes. He moved from Henry onto other potential witnesses, all more or less helpful in various ways. As the day wore on, he realised that they had no solid leads, little evidence, and not much chance of wrapping this up within the day. Fan-tabulous.

*

The way Gene behaved was weird. No easy way to put it. He'd started the job being weird and he'd conducted the day's interviews weirdly. Sam was relatively sure that he'd suffered a massive brain haemorrhage due to his accident and was therefore convinced he was playing a part in a terrifying version of _The Sweeney_ meets _New Tricks_. Except the doctor didn't seem to think so, Gene had been cleared as A-okay. He was impulsive, irrational, he contravened authority, and was constantly going on about the way things "used to be" when they were children, as if 40 years made that much difference. And Sam had no idea why he found him so Goddamned attractive, but was doing everything in his power not to spend too much time alone with him outside of work.

He told himself he was wildly on the rebound and was trying to find a substitute for Maya now that she'd transferred, because, in some key ways, Gene was very reminiscent of her. Believed in gut feeling, hated paperwork. Of course, in others, he couldn't have been more different, and it was the differences that had Sam awake at night.

Sam had jumped through hoops trying to preserve Gene, not only as a member of his team, but as a member of the force, and he wanted to think it was altruism, but his pumping blood and skipping heart told him it was something else. It was purely sexual, nothing more - except, despite never wanting to be alone, Sam loved talking to Gene, partly _because_ he seemed to come from another world. Sam sometimes found himself nodding along, agreeing with what he was saying when he lambasted the bureaucracy and red tape. Unfortunately, Gene also appeared to belong to the masculinist movement that made a mockery of both political correctness and common decency just to get a rise out of people, so he also found himself cringing along with many of Gene's views.

He didn't have high hopes for the Warren & Crane case. Crane got away with all kinds of crap all hours of the day and night, even whilst locked up in prison, but even still was unlikely to orchestrate a stabbing. And the gay community, especially in Manchester, was notorious for closing ranks against coppers. Add to that an officer who had once referred to Ant and Dec as "those soggy little bum bandits" and Sam was wondering why he hadn't delegated everything far, far away.

It was because he knew Gene had a solid performance in there somewhere and thinking about Gene and solid in the same sentence sent a flush up the back of his neck.

The investigation had taken them to the house of one of Jimmy Kendall's friends, a real estate agent called Thomas Ellingham, who hadn't been admitted to the club with Jimmy, but had been seen nearby. Sam didn't like the chances that this was their killer, but he might lead them on the right path.

Sam flashed his badge as soon as the door opened. "DCI Sam Tyler, and this is DCI Gene Hunt, may we come in? We're enquiring into the death of Jimmy Kendall."

"Jimmy's dead?" Ellingham asked, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"As a doorknob," Gene piped up. Sam shot him what he hoped was a withering glare and followed Ellingham into the house.

Once they were seated, Ellingham turned the interrogation on its head. "I saw Jimmy on Friday. He was fine. What happened?"

"He said hello to Zorro, the Gay Blade," Gene remarked. "I saw that one on the weekend. Not nearly as funny as the title'd suggest."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming blue bloody murder. "He was stabbed," he supplied. "By persons unknown. I'm hoping you could help us find out who the culprit was. You say you last saw Jimmy on Friday. What were you doing last night?"

"I stayed at home. Didn't fancy it out. Tell the truth, I've been cutting down on the late nights and club hopping."

"You were nowhere in the vicinity of Warren & Crane, then?"

"No."

Sam wondered whether he should reveal he knew that was a lie straight away or keep this friendly, waiting for some more information to surface. Before he had a chance to decide, Gene was out of his chair and crashing Ellingham into the wall, one hand on his shoulder, the other yanking his head back.

"Nice try, sweetcheeks, but we've got witnesses that saw you outside the club last night."

Ellingham struggled and began wheezing just as Sam sucked in an intake of breath and hauled Gene away.

Sam dragged Gene outside, his Adam's apple feeling like it was expanding and cutting off his airway. "What hell d'you think you're doing?"

Gene was flippant. "He lied."

"He could report you. In fact, I'll be very surprised if he doesn't. Are you _trying_ to be just terminally thick?"

"I'm loving this place, that's what I am. In my old man's day, he'd have that runt down in Lost & Found and squealing like the little pork chop he is."

"In my day? Lost & Found? You're making sense. But you're not ten anymore and it isn't 1973. I think you need your head examined."

"Yeah? And you need to check if you've still got balls somewhere down there."

Sam felt his anger rise as Gene looked pointedly down at his crotch and he was tempted to fight physical violence with physical violence, until he got his emotions under control and pressed his lips into a tight thin line instead. He wasn't used to such a visceral emotional reaction, but then, he was used to facing up to someone like Gene.

"Back to the station, Hunt. Now. Take your Ford Mondeo. I'm gonna try and smooth things over so that we don't get our arses sued off for assault and heads served on a silver platter for letting you near anyone ever."

"You're blowing this out of proportion. I barely touched him."

Sam clenched and unclenched his fists, the knot in his stomach contracting with the movement. "This is just one in a long line of spectacular failures. I don't know why you wanted to transfer to formerly A division, but I sincerely wish you'd transfer right back here. Clearly this is the place for you. It's far too civilised for the police officers your old dad worked with."

Sam knew he'd quite possibly gone too far when Gene's eyes narrowed and he squared his shoulders before turning on his heel and walking down the street, but he felt a small spike of vindication. If Ellingham was their killer, he could easily get away with it, having a police brutality incident to refer to.

*

Gene couldn't face going back to the station like a dog with its tail between its legs, especially considering there'd be incident report forms and endless reams of paperwork to fill out. He went to his flat instead. Lovely little place, with all the mod cons. He went straight to the kitchen to make a tea. It was bedecked in stainless steel and felt more like a hospital ward than a home. The flat was part of what used to be a Crester's textiles warehouse, one he knew well _as_ a textiles warehouse growing up in the 70s-80s, and was just one of nineteen where he'd have thought seven such residences could happily fit. But he had a widescreen telly with picture quality that was damn near like you could _touch_ the actors right there, and the day he'd discovered Blu Rays had been the day his eyes had lit up with the first flickers of joy 2013 had rendered in him. All of Gary Cooper's back catalogue. Films with some indecently saucy bird named Kate Winslet. Countless flicks he'd wanted to see and not had time for. Better yet, there were places to rent movies. It was a Godsend when pubs felt like the paler versions of delicatessens and most public places frowned on smoking.

The Blu Rays also spoke to him. It was one of the things that had him crawled tight under his covers at night, refusing to open his eyes. Every now and then there'd be a scene where out of nowhere another shadowy figure'd pop up. A young child in blue who bore a passing resemblance to his brother Stu as a boy. He spoke occasionally, but never good things, always words that made Gene feel sick, and that usually wasn't possible without thirteen pints of the good stuff and a vindaloo.

He was tempted to forget it all and pop a movie into the player now, because he'd always been a bit of a masochist and if he were lucky, there might not be any bonus features, but he didn't. He added a measure of whisky to his tea and lit up a cig. Least here he could be himself for a few minutes. He undid his top button and stretched his legs out in their jeans. He hadn't given up, not even close. He just needed a few minutes to figure out his next plan of attack. He'd show Tyler what a good copper he was being and then maybe earn back the respect he deserved.

His mind replayed the scene of Tyler only just restraining himself from lashing out. It would've been interesting if Sammy dude had let himself be a man for a moment. Gene didn't allow himself to meander on the thought, because he'd a keen idea of where it would lead; fantasies of Tyler being all man and Gene teaching him some valuable lessons. Shit. Even when he hated the bastard, he wanted him. Didn't seem fair that his life should be twisted around into some bizzaroland after being discharged from hospital and that he'd be stuck with a frustratingly roger ready Guv.

Right, so, he needed evidence that Ellingham was the killer and in order to get that, he'd have to do some more questioning, but if Tyler saw him about town, he'd probably officially suspend him then and there. Whilst Gene wouldn't ordinarily give a tuppeny bit about that, he had no real choice, because police work was the only thing keeping him just this side of sane, even if it was tedious as cat crap and three times as messy to clean up. He'd best get a disguise.

*

Two hours later he was talking with Clifton Bunton, one of Jimmy's pals who'd been with him on the dancefloor. He'd been useful once before and Gene didn't really suspect him, even though he knew he should keep up a surface-level regard of scepticism just because it was the nature of things that, at least once, it really would be the last person you'd suspect.

He peered at Clifton through his glasses and went to brush his hand through his hair only to remember he'd gone so far as to wear a hat.

"So he had a fight with your mate Tony the night before? How bad was this row?" he asked, wondering why Clifton hadn't said anything about it in the first round of interrogation.

"Not bad so much as loud. The make-up sex was louder."

Clifton leered at Gene, which any other day might garner him a warning glare and a light tap, but today just had Gene taking a step back.

"You don't think that a lover's spat was behind his death, do you? I mean, how do you even know Jimmy was the intended target?"

Gene stopped and stared at Clifton, whose bored expression clearly concealed a genius mind. He didn't tell him that, he simply offered some quick words of thanks and continued on his way. There had been something a different dancing queen had said that he'd thought was interesting at the time, but combined with this comment, his mind was working overtime.

*

Jeremy Henry was very accommodating. He wanted this investigation done and dusted, so it was unsurprising. He pointed Gene towards the security vault and let him have his merry way. This was the first time Gene could remember being happy that cameras were everywhere. He took the copies of the security footage proffered and settled himself into the task of looking through them. He'd asked the tech-bloke for the night in question and the nights preceding it, just to double check.

And there he was. The dead man's doppelganger. He hadn't known the victim, hadn't seen it happen, didn't seem connected with the case much at all, except he'd been dressed more or roughly the same. Terrence, another of Jimmy's dance partners, had said that earlier in the evening he'd gone to give Jimmy his drink, but had accidentally offered it to this man instead.

He couldn't be positive, but it was possible Jimmy hadn't been the intended victim at all. He went through his notepad and looked at the address for this other one, Steven Menzies, then rang for another cab.

*

Sam was beginning to think this was a lost cause. Ellingham backed down when Sam apologised and stated that Gene would suffer the consequences of his actions. He admitted that he'd been more surprised than hurt.

Ellingham confessed that he'd gone to Warren & Crane because he was secretly in love with his friend Clifton Bunton and had plans of telling him. He hadn't worked up the courage to go inside. Sam believed him, but went to look at the surveillance tapes just in case.

"Your partner was just here looking."

"I don't have a partner."

Henry gave a perplexed frown. "DCI Hunt."

Sam rubbed a hand down his face. "I know who you meant, I'm just pointing out, he's my partner."

Sam scoured through the security footage and got to the point he wanted. No, Ellingham had never entered the club. Now he was worried. Where might Gene have gone? The thought of him still thinking it was like 1973 was shudder-inducing.

"Did DCI Hunt give you any indication of where he was going next?"

"No, sorry."

Sam groaned, thanked Henry for his time and contemplated running away to Mexico. Instead, he climbed into the Ford S-MAX and tried to decide where to go from here. Seven weeks ago he wouldn't have been having this problem. Life had been infinitely, blissfully boring. As he drove away from the gay quarter back to the station, he reminisced about those times. They seemed so long ago.

He'd go back to the station, work for a couple more hours, and then, if he hadn't uncovered any other leads, go home to risotto for one.

*

Gene was in the car park. Sam didn't know why Gene was there, hunkered behind a newspaper and wearing a truly hideous hat, but he was. Sam also didn't know why he felt a jolt of joy at seeing Gene, but he told himself it was because he now knew his whereabouts. He sauntered over.

"Hello, Gene."

"How'd you know it was me?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow and spoke in a deadpan monotone. "... oh goodness, is that you, DCI Hunt? Why, I hardly recognised you. Your powers of camouflage surely put you on par with The Jackal."

"Look, before you get all high and mighty, you should know I've something to tell you."

"High and mighty? Not wanting Gene running around for the case doesn't make me high and mighty, it makes me sane, unlike some."

"Homophobic? What does that mean?" There was no trace of humour in Gene's words, he just sounded annoyed. His annoyance fuelled Sam's.

"Fearful of homosexuality and prone to showing that fear in violent and abusive ways."

"I can hardly be homophobic when I'm ambisextrous, can I?"

"What?"

"I play for both teams, grease the pole at either end, carnally delight in tits and arse."

Sam stopped. Gene couldn't be serious. He was always making casual remarks. Next he'd be saying he was born a woman and came from a long line of Irish descendents.

Gene could obviously tell he wasn't believing him. He spread his hands out wide, as if this charade added to the meaning of his next words. "Look, where I come from, everyone makes a joke of it. It's just what's done. Doesn't mean anything."

"You know, it's funny, I had no idea Hyde was the national centre for bigotry and crudity."

"Well now you know."

Sam scratched his eyebrow, wishing he could be anywhere else. "What did you have to tell me?"

"Jimmy mightn't've been our intended target. There was another bloke there, Steven Menzies, who was the same build and hair colour, wearing the same outfit. I reckon he was the one who was meant to be stabbed and that we've been following the trail of the wrong man."

"Do you have any proof?"

Gene raised a DVD. "Not proof so much as facts to support the idea. Menzies got into a massive punch up four nights ago. If we can identify who with, we might just nail a killer. Only trouble is, Menzies is uncontactable, has been all day. I'm thinking he knows he was the one who was meant to get it and he's gone into hiding. I was thinking, instead of spending forever trying to find him, we could rely upon your fancy gadgets."

Sam couldn't help it, he was grudgingly impressed. "My fancy gadgets? Right. You know, you are so lucky Ellingham didn't want to take any kind of action against you. I'm going to recommend you're given all weekend shifts for the next several months and you're going to have to answer to me about everything, every last little detail, in the cases you take."

"Not fired, then."

"Let's face it, even if I did fire you, you'd probably still hang around, right?"

"I've nowhere else to go."

*

Gene gave the video to the technically gifted eggheads down in the basement, who'd run it through analysis and try to match it with a face using reference points, but he preferred the tried and true method of looking through photos. He'd been given training on how to use the database when he'd first arrived. Tyler had thought he'd been speaking of early Microsoft Windows PCs when he'd said he'd used a computer since the early 1980s, but he set Gene up with after hours classes and Gene picked it up. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't easy either. Once he'd got the basic details down pat, he was left with the fiddlier stuff, like circumventing the firewall in order to look at sites that might be relevant to cases, but were blocked because the police of 2013 were a bunch of mindless prudes in Information Technology.

Tyler had been shocked at his earlier declaration of sexual freedom, and still didn't believe him. As he clicked through the pictures, Gene thought about ways to make Tyler take stock by his words. It invariably involved someone on their knees and hands in strategic places.

He'd probably made a mistake being so open. It was the first time he'd ever said it out loud, sounded strange to his ears. Whenever he'd been with another bloke, he'd stressed the importance of keeping it quiet, because it was too dangerous not to, especially in his profession. He hadn't had an affair with another man for nine years, and if he hadn't encountered Tyler, he might have thought he'd never have the desire to again. Made life easier, only sleeping with women. No excuses or reasons.

But there was a sense of release with having told the truth, and it's not like Tyler thought he was sick in the head. For that, at any rate.

His computer beeped, informing him he had an email. He'd been known to go days without checking, so he got Danny, one of the basement geeks, to set up a notification, which hadn't taken more than a few clicks, but had ensured he'd been on time for countless meetings. Or purposefully late, however he was feeling that day. It was an email from Danny, funnily enough.

Gene read it, stood and walked over to Tyler's desk. "Guv, they've made a match."

Tyler looked up from his witness statements, surprised. "Brilliant. Let's get down there."

*

"Peter Lane," Danny said, pointing up at the picture on the large display. "Wanted for assault and resisting arrest, 1997. We've got a last known address."

Tyler flicked through his notepad. "He was at the club. Great work."

Gene patted Danny on the shoulder. "Yeah, thanks, Danny-boy, I owe you one."

"No troubles DCI Tyler and DCI Hunt, happy to do my job."

"So are we gonna go, pick him up?"

"No, we'll get uniform to do that. It's late. Why don't we go and get some dinner?"

Gene hoped his expression of shock and amazement didn't make him look like the prick he felt. He followed Tyler out of CID and reflexively opened his hand out for the keys to the Ford S-MAX.

"No. I'm driving. You won't know where to go," Tyler said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Where're we going?"

"We're gonna grab some Thai food. I've been watching your eating habits. You eat lots of junk. You need to be heart smart. I wanna show you that food can be delicious _and_ good for you."

Gene's happily cholesterol encrusted heart began to thump mysteriously quickly in his chest. "You've been _watching my eating habits?_ "

"It's part of the job. Ensure my team is fighting fit."

"Then you'd know Sally regularly vomits after lunch, then?"

"Yeah, she's seeing a psychiatrist about it. Bloody eating disorders."

Gene nodded. "In our childhood day, women weren't afraid to have a little meat on their bones. Handles you could grab onto so you could ride for dear life."

"For God's sakes, stop that. In your day. What day? Tuesday? You act like some old fart, but you're not. You're not a dinosaur. I put a moratorium on such phrases as 'in my day', 'we used to', 'back then' and although it doesn't really apply here, the much hated 'where I come from', okay?"

Gene blew air through his nose in a steady stream and wanted to light up, but knew he'd only get another lecture.

*

This wasn't anything special, this was ensuring that Gene didn't go off half-cocked and go crashing after Peter Lane himself instead of letting uniform handle it. This was giving him an education in healthy eating. This was... a date. No point denying it. It was a complete mistake. He had to be as crazed as Gene.

Sam was dancing with fire. He kept thinking about what Gene had said and he knew it was stupid, but it wasn't like he hadn't had anything but office romances since he joined the force, and maybe this would ease some of the tension between them. Suddenly, all those times Gene had put a hand on his arm came back to haunt him with a quick flash of visual vignettes. It hadn't just been him jumping at the touch, it had been Gene relishing it. He didn't have any concept of personal space because he didn't want one.

He parked and led Gene to the restaurant, asking for a table for two. Gene looked distinctly uncomfortable as he looked down the menu.

"I don't know the language," Gene said.

"Tell me what you like."

"Curries. Meat and three veg. Bacon butties."

"You won't find that latter one, but I can help with the other two. Here, how about this one?" Sam leaned over and pointed to one of the menu items, purposefully brushing his hand against Gene's to elicit a reaction. Gene's eyes settled on his and a wary curiosity played in their depths.

"This is one of my favourite songs," Gene said, "haven't heard it played since I got here."

Sam raised an eyebrow. He didn't think Gene would really be into Christina Aguilera. "Good singer. Not sure about the public image. Doesn't seem right, really, that young girls buy the albums."

"They do? Why? Is it the whistling?"

Sam took a sip of water and wondered how he could respond to that. He couldn't help but think they were at cross purposes with each other. He changed the subject.

"What do you do in your spare time?"

"Watch movies, or play video games mostly. Tried telly, but there's nowt good on, just a bunch of boring tossers like you and me doing stupid shit. No point paying a telly license for that. Except there is that _New Tricks_ show with Dennis Waterman. God, he's looking old."

Sam tried to conceal a snigger, but failed.

"Why's that so funny?"

"No reason, sorry, continue."

"Apart from that, there isn't much spare time to speak of, is there? How about you?"

"Same, mostly. I like to cook, so sometimes I try out new recipes. Go and have dinner with my mum. Read the latest articles on criminal profiling and forensics. I dunno, I used to have lots of friends, but they disappeared over time. Seems like life is work."

"I used to go drinking with the boys down the Railway Arms, going on every night. Play poker. Darts. It wasn't all that exciting, but it was comfortable, especially after my girlfriend left me in the 1980s as a super young PC."

Sam tactfully refrained from asking Gene about his ex girlfriend from the 1980s, even though his curiosity was piqued. "Oi, I put a moratorium on _you_ using that phrase, remember?"

Their food came and they ate together, talking about their different views on policing. Sam was amazed at how Gene still managed to sound like he belonged in another era, but his passion couldn't be disregarded.

Before they could finish, Sam's mobile rang and he gave an apologetic tilt of his head as he answered it and was told Lane had been brought in.

"We better be going. Maybe we could finish another time?"

*

The tape recorder was on, the interview well under way, but Sam didn't think they were going anywhere. Lane was refusing to talk, about anything, and unfortunately, since he had a lawyer sitting next to him, certain tricks of the trade weren't working. Sam was frustrated, but he could tell he wasn't nearly as pissed off as Gene, whose body language screamed, 'I could die, or commit murder, or both.'

Yes, Lane had got into a fight with Menzies. No, he hadn't planned to stab him. If he had, he certainly wouldn't have got the wrong man. Did they have any incontrovertible proof?

What they needed was the knife, laden with fingerprints. What they needed was sleep. They could hold Lane overnight and continue the search in the morning, and that's what Sam suggested.

*

For the first time ever, Gene was excited about returning into 2013. He showered, shaved, got dressed and made it to the station earlier than usual. Tyler was in the car park, smoothing down his suit jacket, waiting for him. He tried to ignore the lurch of his heart into his throat when Tyler smiled at him. He should smile more often, it completely changed his face.

"You're alright for driving us back to the club, aren't you?" Tyler asked, tossing the keys. Gene caught them and nodded. "I've got uniform there already, doing some more scouring. We're going to go out in concentric circles and see if we can't find the murder weapon. I'm also going to try and get a search warrant so we can inspect Lane's house."

"What about the other line of enquiry? I could be wrong."

"Didn't think you'd ever admit that," Tyler said with another teasing smile that lit up his eyes. "You could be, but I don't think so. Lane's way too confident, too prepared. He's a man with a violent history and as you've said, it was dark, easy enough to mistake one man for the other. Just in case, though, I've got Murphy and Spencer working it from the other angle."

Gene glanced at Tyler. He'd covered every particular. He was possibly being unfair, but he didn't think Tyler was that good as a leader. Didn't seem to have dazzling people skills and certainly didn't engender inspiration in the troops. But he was a top-notch copper. Gene'd have him on his own team in a heartbeat.

"You're going on gut feeling," Gene said, quietly pleased.

"Yeah, it'll make a change from normal. Who knows. We might get a result."

*

They searched in bins, with plastic gloves and maps to plot what they'd already looked at. They looked in gutters. Behind plants. In air vents. Nothing. The day wore on with one failure after another. It was more than disheartening and Gene was getting the familiar itch of inaction that he always found frustrating with slow cases like these. Only, it was compounded, because he wasn't allowed to change the rules and go do something else.

Tyler couldn't even get a warrant. The judge said he'd little to go on and to come back when he had more, but there was no more without the search. Gene would've gone off and conducted that search himself, but Tyler kept him in his sights the whole time, smart enough to predict it, but not brave enough to condone it.

By the time they had to let Lane go, Gene was a seething ball of fury, only just able to keep a tight rein on his anger. He could tell that Tyler felt much the same, but he didn't say anything to that effect, just did what he had to do, filling out forms and handing out assignments.

"I'm thinking stakeout," Tyler said when Gene punched his table and sent papers flying everywhere. "We'll get an old car and keep watch."

"On what?"

"I reckon Lane's the type to think he's won. He'll be less cautious."

Gene pushed his lips together, contemplating it as a theory. It wasn't ridiculous. It might even work.

"Why not?"

They borrowed a beaten up Citroen and parked themselves down Lane's street, two pairs of binoculars, a camera, two packets of crisps, a thermos of coffee and a salad between them.

Tyler had his binoculars up to his eyes, scanning the area.

"See anything, Guv?"

"You really have to stop calling me Guv or DCI Tyler when it's just us together. Call me Sam. I've called you Gene from the beginning, haven't I?"

"Alright. Sam. "

"Good. Unfortunately, I don't see anything."

Gene looked at the rise and fall of Sam's chest as he took a deep breath. "If he were my suspect, I'd've beaten a confession out of him by now."

"Please tell me you mean that figuratively?"

"Not in the conventional sense of the word, no."

There was a sigh, a shake the head, as if the disappointment was too much to bear. "Jesus, Gene. Is this why you transferred?"

Gene looked Tyler - no, _Sam_ , in the eyes. "Maybe."

To be honest, he hadn't thought much about the why, only the how and what next.

"Do you really think that's how it works?" Sam asked, "you hit a bloke enough times and you'll secure a conviction?"

"It works."

"No, it doesn't. How do you know he just doesn't want to be smacked anymore? It's so barbarian. You support City, yeah? How'd you feel if the players on the field just whacked each other when they wanted to get a goal? It's not sporting."

"That's a really shit analogy. Police work isn't like football. I'm not saying you hit just anyone, I'm saying you hit the guilty one."

Sam's face had grown a steady shade of pink and he waved his binoculars about like a weapon. "But you don't know he's guilty. Not positively. You could be harming an innocent man. Or woman, let's not forget them, or are they exempt because they're the fairer sex?"

"No, I've hit women too. The right mouthy ones."

Sam set his binoculars down and stared. Gene couldn't help but be amused by his expression. He refused to apologise for doing what had to be done, but before Sam had a fit, he thought he'd better lie.

"I'm pulling your leg."

"Thank God." Sam smoothed a hand over his jaw. "You're a good copper in all kinds of ways, but your views frankly terrify me."

"Yeah, well, you come from another planet."

"We're like the odd couple, but with more sexual tension."

Sam seemed to regret the words as soon as he said them, his mouth closing with a snap and his eyes diverted hurriedly down. He made a big show of fiddling with the camera, before returning his attention out the windscreen.

Gene wouldn't let that lie. "Oh, is that what it is?"

He placed a hand on Sam's far arm, was about to drag him into a kiss, when Sam gave a quick hiss of breath, the camera flying up and one of his hands moving to start the car. "He's off somewhere."

They followed behind Lane's car at a snail's pace until they finally got to the docks. Gene climbed out of the car and crept along the shipping containers until Lane was in his line of sight. Sam wasn't far behind him, wielding the camera. Lane tossed a bag into the water, looked around, and then made his way back, driving off again. A couple of minutes passed and Gene was aware Sam was staring at him wide-eyed.

Gene bumped his shoulder. "C'mon, fetch something to get it out."

"Right. Yeah. First, I've gotta call the station. Let them know what we saw."

"Bloody hell, let me."

Gene flipped his phone out of his pocket and began stabbing at the numbers, but the mobile was tiny and it took him seconds just to hit the three digit speed-dial. He stomped his foot and began cursing the thing until a voice appeared on the other end.

Gene rolled his eyes as Sam looked around for something appropriate to extract the evidence. He found an old garbage net and began waving it around in the water. If this worked, they'd have finished with the case and all that would be left was dealing with Lane and a shitload of paperwork.

And for some reason, he was looking forward to it.

*

It took hours to arrange forensics and a diving team to be there and Sam was worried Lane had seen him and Gene in the Citroen and decided to play games, but finally, when they extracted the bag, it held bloodied clothes and a knife.

He collapsed beside Gene with a hot cup of coffee. He didn't understand why Gene was staring at the nearby television monitor completely rigid, his skin pale and eyes fixed.

"Gene?"

Gene's head whipped around suddenly, almost as if he was pulled out of a trance. He took the coffee Sam was offering and took a gigantic gulp.

"Ah, that's the stuff. I'll give you this, coffee's better here. Expensive, but better."

"Glad you've found something you can approve of."

"I approve of lots of things," Gene replied. "I approve of you."

"Too kind. I should hope so, the number of chances I've given you."

"Chances for what?"

Sam smirked, peering at Gene beneath lowered lashes. "All kinds of things."

They hauled Lane in and despite the fact the lawyer was still there, this interview ran a lot more smoothly once they revealed the photographic evidence. Halfway through the interview, forensics came back and revealed the blood as being Jimmy Kendall's, and the fingerprints as being Peter Lane's. It was solid.

"He said he loved me and then he stabbed me in the back, so I thought I'd repay the favour," Lane said, looking more than miserable and less than happy to be telling them.

"But you got the wrong man," Sam said quietly.

"I didn't know that, did I? Not until later."

"You're going away for a long time," Gene declared with a menacing grin, his eyes slightly manic and his shoulders hunched. In that moment, even Sam was scared of him, and wasn't surprised his rough and ready approach got results.

He thought about suggesting anger management classes, but didn't think he was up for the peals of laughter and mockery, so he suggested they go for a celebratory breakfast instead.

They were just outside the café Sam liked to frequent when Gene dragged him into the nearby alley and stared him down.

"Before we celebrate, I really think there's something we've got to clear up," Gene said. Sam's pulse stuttered as Gene inched towards him. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end as Gene placed a hand on his bicep and the other at his waist. "I don't know how long I'm gonna be here for, but whilst I am, I'd like for us to get along."

"And by along, you mean...?"

"In. Out. Together." Gene ground his hips against Sam's. "You know. Along."

"It would compromise our positions."

"Can't be any more compromised than they already are."

"Office romances rarely go well."

"Who said it had to be romantic?"

Sam found himself grinning. He pushed back insistently and tilted his head, going in for the kiss. He stopped when their lips were half an inch apart. "Surely I'm far too young for you? In your day, witches were burnt at the stake and archery was a new fad."

"Actually, in my old man's day, you'd've been four and me ten," Gene said quietly. He brushed Sam's fringe away from his forehead and Sam was slightly disturbed by the earnestness in his tone. "But we're not right now," he said more cheerfully, and closed the gap between them.

*

Kissing Sam made 2013 bearable. Shagging Sam made 2013 great. He still had to pretend he knew things he didn't when in 1973, and every time he thought he knew everything there was to know that occurred in the space between 1973 and 2013, something new came up, but at least he had someone now, which was more than he could say for then.

There were acronyms and procedures and that much lecturing, he thought he'd go deaf, but there was also another lithe, firm body beside his, so he thought he'd cope. He closed his eyes and kissed Sam again, revelling in the warmth and softness, just as one hand skated over Sam's abdomen to his hard and bony hip.

He could make this his home, for however long it had to be. And he may not really know if he was bonkers, in a bloody coma, or miraculously in the sodding future, but at the moment, that didn't matter all that much.


	12. Chapter 12: The Ending

**Chapter 12 staying in the present day of 2013 is wrapping up of my Ashes to Ashes and Life on Mars crossover storyline on DCI Gene Hunt's Metropolitan Police Siege Accident with boys and their toys. In the midst they finally catch up with their boss Gene's elderly former Detective Chief Inspector; Raymond Milton Carling and section him to a care home under the Mental Health Act.**

* * *

Gene was getting back into computers eventually, though... same as the Playstation. One day Sam came home and Gene was - having an involved game of _Resident Evil_. "I got another of 'em! Die, scum, die!"

"Very nice, Gene."

Later on, Sam frowned, tilted his head to the side and looked at the television. There, on the screen, was an episode of _Futurama._ Maya had bought Gene the first series DVD set, after he'd waxed lyrical about _Star Wars_ for three hours and she'd got the maladjusted impression he was a sci-fi fan.

"Bite my shiny metal arse," Gene said, and the grin was manic, deranged, and disturbingly enthusiastic in his Bender the robot impression.

Bender is a foul-mouthed, heavy-drinking, cigar-smoking, kleptomaniacal, misanthropic, egocentric, ill-tempered robot manufactured by Mom's Friendly Robot Company. He is originally programmed to bend girders for suicide booths, and is later designated as assistant sales manager and cook, despite lacking a sense of taste. He is Fry's best friend and roommate. He must drink heavily to power his fuel cells and becomes the robot equivalent of drunk when low on alcohol. He is DCI Gene Hunt's favourite character from the _Futurama_ series since it reminds him so much of his old man.

"Oh my God. You don't think of yourself as the redhead at all, do you? You're the robot!" remarked DCI Sam Tyler chuckling as they watch the 1999-2000 Series one episodes of Futurama together as best friends outside the police station.

XXXXXXX

Meanwhile at Metropolitan Police CID at Fenchurch police station, DCIs Sam Tyler and Gene Hunt were arguing over whose turn it was on Microsoft Word 2013 when crime reports were due in to be typed up.

Gene pushed his lips forward and narrowed his eyes in triumph. "Be miserable. And you know it."

"... I'm getting you your own computer upgraded to Microsoft Windows 10 next weekend, so we don't have to fight over this one in my office."

"If you could turn the paperclip into a neat Ford that would be cool!"

"Some of your older equivalents called you 'Boneo'! You were a lanky skinny thing in the 1980s and early 1990s." sniggered DCI Sam Tyler as the two typed up their reports, attached them to emails and signed in the Microsoft Excel timesheets.

Gene Hunt gradually reveals his personal background to other colleagues in the Met Police CID department. For example, Hunt explains to colleagues that his father was an abusive alcoholic. He also explains that his brother, Stuart, was a drug addict who ended up in prison even after Hunt's repeated attempts to reform him.

"Thanks," Gene said, and Sam nearly had a fit in shock. He stood back to allow his boss room and watched as Gene maximised Word again. Gene put the cursor over the little dancing paperclip on the screen and started to drag it to the end of the window, towards the recycle bin, as it asked if Gene needed help typing his letter. He swore loudly when it wouldn't go.

XXXXXXX

"You've got your Ford Mondeo Titanium X. I wanted a car of my own."

"Sure, I remember when you had that 2006 Rover saloon in silver. Now, be a good boy and do as I say. Quit it. You are giving me a pounding headache and I haven't even had my daily lunchtime chip butty."

"Just like how you look at a Ford Mondeo Titanium X and think all it has to offer is a truly chavvy exterior, but once you get inside, you realise it's marginally less crud than you'd previously thought."

"I want a chip butty and a packet of _Frazzles_ smoky bacon crisps. Just so you know." when he jumps into his glorious sonic blue beast of a Ford Mondeo Titanium X.

Gene's Fords were always expensive top of the range but conservative - since 1980, but got the latest when he had a brand new dazzling silver Ford Sierra Mk1 XR4i aged just 22 and it was his first proper car that was miles comfier than the Mk3 Cortina GXL he had for four years running from 1980.

 **Detective Constable Maya Roy** (portrayed by Archie Panjabi), born in early 1974 in Manchester to Englishwoman Leslie Roy (alias Layla Dylan) and father Deepak Gandhi, an Ugandan Asian immigrant, is Sam's girlfriend in 2013.

Their relationship is already having difficulties before Gene's accident, and Maya ends it. In the same episode, adult Gene meets Maya's pregnant mother Leslie, in 1973 and, in a predestination paradox, inspires her to name her baby, Maya. Maya is, accordingly, approximately 4.5 years younger than Sam who is four in 1973. She is almost 10.5 years younger than DCI Gene Hunt, as he is ten in 1973; he affectionately nicknames her as Sparkly Smile in the modern day CID department.

* * *

DCI Gene Hunt's father, John was born on 12 October 1932 who remembered working for Greater Manchester Police in the 1950s-1980s; he was a hard core, old school, swearing, smoking, drinking, punching if necessary guy. He has the best one liners you have heard for years! All in the name of getting the job done.

His older son Gene prides himself on his ability to suss people out and have a working idea about their backstory within about ten minutes of contact. He's good at predicting what they've done and what they're yet to do similar to Sam's style of modern policing. He knows when people are lying—to him or to themselves.

Ray Carling and John Hunt are undeniably homophobic, sexist, and willing to ignore police procedure whereas Sam along with Gene were much more politically correct, restrained, and bound by myriad rules and regulation.

Dealing with Gene's father's and Ray Carling's racist language caused some stress within the Metropolitan Police CID unit; the men are products of their respective times. Phyllis junior's no-nonsense attitude earns respect with everyone at London Metropolitan Police CID because they know that, whatever rank they are, she won't tolerate their disrespect. She encourages Sam to act on his feelings toward Annie Cartwright.

"Sir, your father's being racist towards Viv - our desk sarge." WPC Phyllis Dobbs Junior ran towards DCI Gene Hunt's office feeling stressed by dealing with two elderly detainees whom were police officers in their day; think _New Tricks_ crossed over with _The Sweeney,_ but in DCI Gene Hunt's words when referring to Dennis Waterman "God, they're looking old." when he, Sam and DI Alex Drake take them to two Interview rooms separately to record their transcripts on cassette tape with their lawyers present throughout.

The three senior police officers work through their respective interviews, evidence submitted with both written and audio statements, photos and coloured manila files of historic complaints against John Hunt and Ray Carling when the latter of the two was a Detective Chief Inspector; Dean's father just a Detective Sergeant at the time in the 1970s, but Gene's father's right hand man when it came to being a bad cop. The men support opposing football teams in Manchester, once a red always a red (Manchester United) and blues (Manchester City).

XXXXXXX

His and Gene's background leads into conflict, as Dean and Gene's fathers exhibit openly sexist, homophobic, and racist behaviour, and often indulge all these prejudices when they were carrying out their police duties almost 24-60 years ago.

"I present an award every year at the Police Bravery Awards, and they all tell me they know someone just like my old Guv." DCI Gene Hunt replied as Annie Cartwright partially persuades Gene that he can't change their dated attitudes "Sir, you can't change your father's and Ray's policing disagreements over our modern policing methods." Annie was in the collators basement finding another man who may have knew them at the time before she is radioed to another community assignment with the rest of the PCSOs.

The Bannister folders read:

 **Ted Bannister (born 1951,** **Ancoats** **, Manchester, Lancashire)**

 _Ted often associated with characters who are "hard men"; one of 12 siblings, he grew up in Ancoats, Manchester's "Little Italy" community. He was a binman for ten years before committing General Bodily Harm since the 1970s. He is a lifelong fan of Manchester City F.C. and regularly attends their matches since his boyhood of the 1950s and 1960s era. In 1991 from the age of 40, he was in and out of dodgy work with his hard men associates._

Unlike his father's disdain for DI Williams in the 1970s, Dean Carling as his son forms a good working relationship with DI Alex Drake and, most of the time, fully respects her authority over him, despite her gender.

"Great work Ma'am, are you off to see Derek Bannister's old dad then?" he asked "It'll be a long stretch of the imagination." sensing the long journey up north to Manchester.

"Yes, Dean as he has an address near the old Crester's Textiles mill, since having his first child in 1979 aged 28 or 29." Alex and Gene walk to Superintendent Harry Woolf's office for some top tips on Ted Bannister's MO as he knew the latter when he was just a Detective Constable in Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House station. Like his ex Detective Inspector Gene Hunt, he has a mullet hairstyle and taught Gene well especially when GMP were in the midst of historical police corruption with a struggling CID on his hands at the time of the 1980s and early 1990s as policing underwent a radical shift during Gene's early days as a teenage aspiring police officer, who always had a sense of justice against corrupt coppers and didn't hesitate to report them.

 **Derek Bannister (born 22 November 1979 in Salford, England) **is an actor who was determined not to follow his troubled family's paths where his two siblings Paul and Sarah were in and out of the Greater Manchester Social Services children's homes whenever their dad Ted was sentenced for assault, their mother became ravened by age due to the stress of her much older husband's trouble with the police.

 _Derek Bannister was born in Salford. His first acting was done in British television and radio programmes. He was trained in the Oldham Theatre Workshop. Knott's first major film was Warner Brothers' The Secret Garden in 1993, in which he played Dickon Sowerby. He went on to play Joe Green in Black Beauty. In the late 1990s, he played Liam Shepherd in Coronation Street. _

_In 2004, he returned to theatre to act in Alan Bennett's The History Boys. The National Theatre production later toured the world, affording Knott his Broadway debut. He reprised his role on BBC radio, and in Bennett's film adaptation which was directed by the National's Nicholas Hytner. In 2011, he appeared in "The National Anthem", an episode of the anthology series Black Mirror. Knott most recently appeared in the TV series Drop Dead Gorgeous, Gavin & Stacey and the BBC 3 drama series Spooks: Code 9 as Rob. Most recently he appeared in 1 episode of the LGBT miniseries Banana. He has also guest starred on the BBC show Father Brown. _

_Derek Bannister is married with two daughters._

* * *

 **Detective Superintendent** **Harry Woolf** (portrayed by Kevin McNally) is the most senior officer at the station. He was also Gene Hunt's DCI when Gene Hunt was a DI in 1988-1997 and sees a lot of Gene in younger DCI Sam Tyler, respecting Sam's policing methods. He gives his former Detective Inspector some advice on the former colleague "Your father's colleagues were nasty pieces of work, Gene as I was only in my twenties then being a Detective Constable, it won't be easy tracking them down, mind ladies and gentlemen."

"So why 30-40 years later are we chasing up elderly corrupt police officers like my old man and Dean's dad, Guv?" questioned DCI Gene Hunt fundamentally good at picking the backstory behind the Operation Lemontree case. Gene is always raved about by younger colleagues dubbed a "national hero", an unlikely sex symbol and a top cop throughout his years at Greater Manchester Police and London Metropolitan Police; since the age of 19 in 1982. He also believes that there is a "very fine line between a criminal and a copper", in which this should never be crossed.

"Of all the time I was in the CID in the 1970s I saw coppers in a leather bomber jacket and I heard a fair few officers call the DCI or DI 'guv'... Actually, there were police officers who started to behave like Regan and Carter in _The Sweeney_." replied DSI Harry Woolf who recalled his days as a new kid in the bad world of the old school copper during the Seventies "Ray took out his frustrations on a drunk young man outside a pub and ended up killing him, something which Superintendent Rathbone covered up in 1975."

XXXXXXX

Sam Tyler and son Gene Hunt clashed with Hunt Senior and Carling Senior most frequently, usually because they value forensic evidence whereas Ray and John often resorted to traditional methods with gut instincts inside the Interview rooms. Way back in 1993 both Gene Hunt and Alex Drake were working together in order to expose corruption within Greater Manchester Police CID. After several discoveries and unofficial investigations led by a super young Hunt and Drake beginning to notice that files and evidence have gone missing from the collators den and forensics department.

In ex Detective Chief Inspector John Hunt's profile, the papers accumulate to create one thick file:

 _John's marriage to Lenska ended because of his violent behaviour towards her. In March 2012 he caused controversy with some comments on this issue: "It's not difficult for a woman to make a man hit her. She certainly wasn't a beaten wife, she was hit and that's different."_

 _John Hunt was banned from driving for three years in January 1991, following his second drink-driving conviction in four years since 1987._

 _Gene's father's love of football was reflected in his being chosen to present Match of the Seventies from 1995 to 1996, a nostalgic BBC show celebrating the best football action from the 1970s._

XXXXXXX

* * *

Gene Hunt often wore a beige camel coat with a white shirt and tie, grey suit and trousers with white slip on shoes as a Detective Sergeant pre 1988 as he was one of the youngest officers to climb through the ranks becoming a DCI in 1997 aged just 34. In present day 21st Century (2000 onwards) he is often seen wearing a black suit, striped tie, Crombie coat, jeans and snakeskin boots.

Gene Hunt, is a fairly extraordinary man combined with undying loyalty to his colleagues at both Greater Manchester Police and Metropolitan Police, when having just joined the police at the age of 19 in 1982; Hunt is shown to be a fresh-faced young teenager with a slim build, and wearing a blue police tunic, a three quarter length police trench coat and a Greater Manchester Police chequered hat with the epaulette identity number 6620. Gene being a 21st-century detective, is forensically aware and procedurally correct; unlike his father and elderly former boss Ray Carling who valued violence, corruption and gut instinct in order to catch criminals.

* * *

Sam is wearing a formal dark navy suit with a tie on the long ride up north to Manchester with his boss in Gene's fabulous Ford Mondeo Titanium X in blue, the only time they go there is to visit their mothers or drop by Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House base for a cold case.

In a reference to the _Batman_ series Sam Tyler is nicknamed after millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne's sidekick.

"Boy Wonder, we've got all the portfolio notes plus evidence on my old man and Ray Carling; including criminal offences in police corruption and drink driving." listening to _David Bowie's Rebel Rebel_ on the radio, eating pick 'n' mix and owning the road in his Ford Mondeo.

"You've been waiting to finally arrest your old boss and father since we were kids," whispered DCI Sam Tyler who knew this was his esteemed boss's decades old secret promised since 1973 aged 10 and 4.

Gene Hunt's normal unmarked gold Cortina MK3 GXL was his daily driver from 1980-1984 in Manchester up to 21 years of age. It had the dartboard style Rostyle rims, an official Ford pushbutton radio, black vinyl roof with GXL badges on the sides and twin headlights; was very similar to his childhood Corgi 313 Ford Cortina Mk3 GXL toy of 1970-1973 at seven to ten.

XXXXXXX

* * *

Alternate with shots of a convoy of shiny police cars, some marked, some not. These stop outside a row of terraced houses. DCI SAM TYLER gets out of the first one with DI MAYA ROY. He goes up to the door of one of the houses and knocks. DCI GENE HUNT appears out of the top range blue Ford executive saloon with DC CHRIS SKELTON and DI ALEX DRAKE.

Gene shouts "Ray Carling, open the door please, police! Mr Carling, we have a warrant to search the house and remove property in compliance with the _Criminal Evidence Act_."

As RAY CARLING doesn't answer, one of the uniformed policemen with SAM opens the door with a portable battering ram. GENE goes in.

SAM and GENE arrive at the police station with the latter's former Guv handcuffed as he is escorted to custody at Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House station.

"This is gonna look very bad on your arrest report, Guv." smirked DCI Gene Hunt as he saw what became of his once irascible boss, was found living in a sad terraced house near the area Gene and Sam both grew up in. "It'll cost you all your police perks and I've been waiting to arrest you since I was a new kid of Greater Manchester Police in 1982, nearly 30 years!"

An interview. Someone puts in a tape and presses the Record button. SAM lines up his pens.

"Interview commenced at 11:19 a.m. The suspect will state his name."

"Ex DCI Ray Milton Carling." the words sounded slow as he struggled to remember his name.

"Also present are the suspect's lawyer, psychiatrist, and social worker. Look at these photos, Ray." said DCI Gene Hunt feeling a triumph at seeing his former Guv on the other side of the interviewing table for once in 30 years.

The psychiatrist stated "You're upsetting him, Ray's dementia means he's too old to be reminded of the historical police brutality he did all those years ago." glaring at DCIs Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler across the table holding his medical reports stating a diagnosis of dementia six years ago.

He shows CARLING a computer photofit, which resembles him as the ex Detective Chief Inspector he is now. CARLING looks sheepish.

"That particular entry is not awash with ambiguity. Dated November the fourth 1973." DCI Sam Tyler answered as the old man is shown photos of a suspect battered like a little pork chop with his face almost grey in colour with various blue bruises and bleeding teeth.

"Hold on, November the second 1973?" queried the Greater Manchester County Council social worker wearing a tight ladies suit in black with white stripes.

"That's correct." DCI Sam Tyler confirmed.

"He was at our drop-in centre. Some kids had thrown fireworks at him. He was distressed. We brought him to the centre for safety until someone could take your senior Detective Chief Inspector's former boss home."

The lawyer representing ex DCI Ray Carling rudely walks out of Interview Room 4. "Think we're done here."

SAM and GENE are horrified at the rude lawyer's manners in Interview.

GENE sitting at his desk, re-watching the video of the interview. MAYA stands behind him, watching.

 _(on computer screen) "Ex DCI Ray Carling."_

 _"_ We'll go back to our best lead." sighed Gene who was chewing a Cadbury's Curlywurly bar and discovers the Greater Manchester Police staff records which features all officers past and present on the database. He types in _Ray Carling_ into the search box and clicks search.

The pictures on the computer screen changes as Gene views the police brutality of his former boss against several suspects over the years and breakages of police procedure, one features Gene's bronze Ford Cortina MkIII GXL, 1-7 years previously before 1980; it had Ray shouting at some kids playing outside and threatening them if anything happened to the car.

The pictures change to higher-resolution photographs, suggesting the film used was very good quality.

"I think there's more to be had from Carling. Let's lean on him." DC Maya Roy for a minute there picked up her senior DCI Gene Hunt's sayings.

DCI Sam Tyler enters Gene's office "What, and be sued for harassment of an ex police officer with dementia?" walking in to view the slim desktop screen.

"It's in his psych evaluation." warned DCI Gene Hunt advising his Detective Constable of Asian origin to tread carefully.

"Well, screw his psych evaluation. You used to believe in gut feeling, what happened?" Maya Roy defiantly asks to the tall handsome and dark police officer who shrugs her question off with a tiny smile.

"Nothing. I saw some nasty things in here, during the 1980s that I vowed to get rid of when Sam and I became DCIs ourselves." Gene spoke quietly to the computer ignoring one of his Detective Constables.

"Gene, what is going on in there?" she persistently asked causing Gene to stand up and log his computer off heading for the Ford Mondeo Titanium X.

"Look love, I can't think about this now, okay?" as Gene tosses his own Ford keys into the pocket of his Crombie coat. "I'm gonna stand you down from the case, Maya. It's not productive and I'm concerned you'll pick up bad illegal habits from my old Guv'nor."

"Um... I have a theory about Carling, about why he kept a diary." reluctant to be on any other case. "Why are you shutting me out?"

"I've made my mind up." Gene gets back to his work ignoring DC Maya Roy "Sammy dude and I are the bosses, we don't do this for nothing, it's done so because we care about our team's safety."

"Don't you even want to know what I'm thinking? My feeling is that—" Maya is interrupted immediately as Gene prepares for his I-Phone alerting him to assignments.

GENE gets a cup of water from the cooler and starts making his way back across the office. His Apple I-phone rings. He digs it out of a pocket, looks at it, prepares himself and answers.

XXXXXXX

"What are you doing?" DCI Gene Hunt was driving his beloved Ford Mondeo Titanium X answering the Apple I-Phone unit via Bluetooth and hands free listening to Take That's Rule the World across the motorway network of Greater Manchester.

 **# You light the skies, up above me**  
 **A star, so bright, you blind me, yeah**  
 **Don't close your eyes**  
 **Don't fade away, don't fade away**

 **Oh**

 **Yeah you and me we can ride on a star**  
 **If you stay with me girl**  
 **We can rule the world**  
 **Yeah you and me we can light up the sky**  
 **If you stay by my side**  
 **We can rule the world**

 **If walls break down, I will comfort you**  
 **If angels cry, oh I'll be there for you! #**

Take That's Rule the World lyrics continue on the Ford radio as DCI Gene Hunt approaches Satchmore Road.

"I'm following my feelings, Gene. I think there's more to your old boss. I think he's trying to impress someone. What if he still knows former criminals?"

"Hang on, if Social Services find out that— where are you, Maya?" asked DCI Gene Hunt tapping in the given address on Sat Nav mode on his Ford Mondeo.

"I'm at the junction — someone's there. Carling is heading up towards Satchmore Road. I'm gonna go and—"

"No! Maya! No! Listen, I'll send backup." DCI Gene Hunt panicked severely at what might be to come.

GENE arrives at Satchmore Road, according to the sign on the fence where his car stops. There are a lot of people, police and police tape. SAM goes into a play area. On a swing, which is still swinging slightly. Another man, presumably also CID, stands behind him. In the background, a helicopter can be heard.

"Preserve the scene. Call in SOCO, please." ordered DCI Gene Hunt "I want my ex DCI Ray Carling in custody awaiting assessment by the time I have a curry for my tea."

GENE driving a silver Ford executive, crying and trying not to. He slams his hand on the steering wheel several times, angry, helpless and distraught. Another car cuts him off and he brakes violently so as not to hit it. He stops the car pressing the hazard button and takes off his seatbelt.

"Life on Mars" by David Bowie is playing. GENE takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He opens the car window.

We see that all this is happening on a small road underneath the Mancunian Way motorway. The music is playing on his iPod Classic plugged into the Ford radio in the car.

XXXXXXX

* * *

DCI Gene Hunt has a vivid dream of what policing was like in the Seventies; when his former boss Ray Carling was in his prime.

DCI Ray Carling is in a patch of waste ground, in front of a brick-built factory on a grey cloudy day. In front of him are several piles of rubbish, some of them smoking. It looks like something's recently been demolished.

It's a good forty years older, a bronze Ford Cortina Mk3, number plate KJM 212K. "Life on Mars" is now more muted. He peers in the window of the car. There's a stack of papers on the passenger seat. The music is now coming from an eight-track player inside.

A painting of the Mancunian Way, with Manchester as lots of gleaming white tower blocks in the background. The words "Coming Soon!" and "Manchester's Highway in the Sky" are written across it. We see, behind it, the scene of demolition that's soon going to be a construction site.

The police station. From the outside, it looks exactly the same, but instead of shiny silver cars, most of the policemen are coming or going on bicycles or Austin Allegro panda cars. A pale-yellow shirt with a big collar, a small silver medallion, leather jacket and — he looks down — dark-brown cord trousers and brown ankle boots with Cuban heels. He feels something in a pocket of his jacket. Takes it out — it's his police badge, which certifies that he is, indeed.

New arrival opens the office door. Whereas it should be white, with a hint of blue, clean and clinical, it's now dark and dingy. The ceiling looks like a multi-level car park. a newbie stands in the doorway and stares. A man (whose name is VINCE) steps back out of the way, staring at their new Detective Inspector. There are concrete pillars all over the place, and absolutely mountains of paper.

He looks at RAY, older than the younger officers, with very pale blue eyes and a moustache, then walks around his desk to stand in an empty patch of floor. Behind him, absolutely everyone's watching.

He's about GENE's age, largeish, with a nondescript shirt and trousers, and a loose, hideously patterned tie. He has a cigarette in his mouth. He leans on the doorframe.

A television is in the foreground, showing an advert for locking and protecting your car. The camera slowly pans past it—

 **TELEVISION NARRATOR** (voiceover)

"...It's funny, I could have sworn I left it here." Remember: lock your car! Check the doors, the windows, the boot. And please... take the keys with you. Watch out! There's a thief about!"

* * *

Later on back at Greater Manchester Police's Stopford House station with DCI Gene Hunt giving the newspapers, television news reporters and media moguls on the case against his former Guv'nor as ex DCI Ray Carling is summoned to a care home with a Deprivation of Liberty order on him.

"I love pink wafers. You know, all of those big boxes of wafers you get at Poundland. Right. I've gotta get down the pub and give the papers a statement and if I don't get a move on, they'll all be half-cut. _(to SAM)_ So, you're senior officer, you're in charge of the night shifts."

XXXXXXX

SAM comes into the police station. He looks through the window from the corridor into the office, closes his eyes for a moment in resignation, shakes his head and turns to leave, just as GENE and CHRIS come out of the office.

"Why don't you call it a day, Tyler? Chris'll drive you to your place." advised DCI Gene Hunt who noticed black bags underneath Sam's eyes.

The case against ex DCI Ray Carling was a resounding success as the CPS had plenty of evidence during his court case ruling in favour of DCIs Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler's months of hard work and searching.


End file.
